#raw air 2017

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ logan (2017) - push and pull

chapter summary: After living in Mexico for one year to take care of Charles, a young girl enters your lives and brings about a new set of problems.

word count: 19.6k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: so this is a two parter, not a oneshot. this first part covers the logan movie, and the second part covers 'deadpool and wolverine'

anyways, i've always wanted to write a black widow!reader x logan fic and when thinking of how i was going to write the logan movie in this alternate universe, i realized i was finally given the chance!! so while she is a black widow, she still has her time manipulation mutation.

warnings/tags: canon to 'logan (2017)', logan and reader are married, black widow!reader, violence, blood, angst, character death

series masterlist - part 2

The women gathered their things and made their way out of the studio, their yoga mats under their arms and big bottle of water in their other hand.

One of the women, Theresa, stopped by you and spoke, “I- I think you have something on you. Blood? Or red paint?”

“Shit,” you muttered. “Where?”

Theresa pointed at your wrist, where a few small splatters of red lay. You murmured a thanks before adding, “our dog got into the paint last night. Took me hours to clean it off the floor. Thought I washed it all away in the shower.”

Theresa gave you a skeptical look but didn’t push further, instead giving you a polite smile. “Dogs can be such troublemakers, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s a handful,” you lied smoothly, returning the smile as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “I’ll see you next week?”

Theresa nodded. “Of course. Have a good weekend, Y/N.”

“You too.” You watched her leave before exhaling, running a hand over your face. The blood on your wrist wasn’t from paint or any overly energetic dog. It was from the hit last night, the one Logan didn’t know about yet—and you weren’t exactly looking forward to that conversation.

As you walked out of the studio into the dry, hot air of El Paso, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You had wiped the blood off your hands and face last night, scrubbed until your skin felt raw, but somehow you’d missed the small spatters on your wrist.

He’s going to notice. He always notices.

You got into your car and drove past the border to make it to the place you called ‘home’. At least for now.

Logan’s beat up ’24 Chrysler was in front, and you noticed a few bullet marks on one side of the car door.

By the time you exited your car, lugging out your yoga mat and small bag, Logan stepped out of the smelting plant. His usual scowl was set in place, his sharp eyes scanning the area like he was expecting trouble.

When he saw you, his gaze softened just enough to be noticeable. “You’re late, darlin’. Class run long, or were you out savin’ the world again?”

You forced a laugh, locking your car. “Class ran over. Some of us have to work to keep this circus running.”

He narrowed his eyes, catching the hint of deflection. Logan could always tell when you were holding something back, but for now, he didn’t press. Instead, he jerked his head toward the plant. “Charles had a bad day. Might wanna check on him before he starts up again.”

“I will.” You adjusted the strap of your bag and walked toward him, stopping just short of the door. “You get any sleep last night?”

Logan snorted. “What do you think?”

“Figured not,” you said with a wry smile. “You should let me drive for a few shifts. Give you a break.”

“You know how I feel about that.” He crossed his arms, his tone making it clear the subject was closed.

You bit back a retort and nodded instead. “Alright, tough guy. I’ll go check on Charles.”

As you started to pass him, Logan reached out and gently caught your wrist. His thumb brushed over the faint red stain you’d missed. His grip tightened slightly, his voice dropping to a growl. “What the hell is this?”

“Paint,” you said quickly. “From class.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not paint. That’s blood. Start talkin’, sweetheart.”

You sighed, pulling your wrist free. “It’s nothing, Logan. Just a small job—"

“A job?” He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You mean one of those jobs? Goddammit, Y/N, we talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it,” you snapped, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t need your permission to take work. We need the money, and you know it.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. “There’s other ways to get money. Safer ways. Ways that don’t get you killed.”

“Like what?” you shot back. “Driving drunk assholes around all night? Scraping by, waiting for the next disaster? You think this life is safe? None of this is safe, Logan.”

“That doesn’t mean you throw yourself into danger for a damn paycheck,” he barked.

You flinched at his words, but you refused to back down. “It paid $3000, Logan. We both know that we need the money. Me working at the yoga studio and you drivin’ around isn’t enough.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the lines on his face deeper than usual. He looked away for a moment, shaking his head. “Darlin’, $3000 ain’t worth your life. You know that.”

“My life wasn’t on the line,” you argued, your tone sharper than you intended. “It was simple. In and out. No complications.”

“No complications, huh?” He turned back to you, eyes dark with frustration. “Then what the hell’s that blood doin’ on your wrist?”

You let out a huff, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t mine.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Logan snapped. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into that gruff, almost pleading tone that always made your resolve waver. “You promised me you’d leave that shit behind. We’ve been through too much for you to keep riskin’ everything like this.”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” you shot back, holding his gaze. “I said I’d try. But look around, Logan. We’re barely holding it together. Charles needs his meds, Caliban’s sick, and your goddamn limo’s one flat tire away from falling apart. We can’t afford to play it safe anymore.”

Logan scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Damn it, Y/N. I’m tryin’ to keep you alive.”

“And I’m trying to keep us alive!” Your voice cracked, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “Do you think I want to do this? To go back to the shit I worked so hard to leave behind? But what choice do we have? You can’t carry this alone, Logan, and I won’t let you.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Logan’s shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a mix of anger and worry. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered. “Every time you walk out that door, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you stood firm. “And you think I don’t feel the same every time you leave? I know what you’re doing out there, Logan. You think driving a limo’s any safer when half the people you pick up are armed or drunk off their asses?”

“That’s different,” he growled.

“How?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it’s you? Because you’re the one taking the risks instead of me? You’re not the only one who gets to decide what’s worth it.”

Logan clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw working as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a damn pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you love me anyway.”

He sighed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the anger simmering between you moments ago. “I do,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with this.”

You leaned into his touch, letting the moment stretch between you. “I know,” you murmured. “But I’m not okay with watching you tear yourself apart trying to keep everything together. We’re in this together, Logan. Like it or not.”

He huffed, his lips twitching in a reluctant smirk. “You’re stubborn as hell.”

“Takes one to know one,” you quipped, earning a low chuckle from him.

Logan dropped his hand, his gaze softening just enough to remind you of the man underneath all the rough edges. “You’re cleanin’ up, right?”

“Already did,” you said. “Missed a spot, obviously, but I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

“Not if you’re the death of me first,” you teased, though the words carried a bittersweet weight. You reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Imma go check on Charles. Then we can argue about this some more later.”

Logan squeezed your hand back before letting it go. “I have a job. I should only be gone for a few days. Then we should have enough for the Sunseeker.”

“Great,” you replied with a small smile, though your stomach twisted at his words. Jobs always meant danger—especially for him. “Just don’t take too long. You know how Charles gets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already turning toward the car. “You keep an eye on him while I’m gone, alright?”

“I always do,” you said softly, watching as he walked toward the beat-up Chrysler. His shoulders were hunched, weighed down by the years and everything they’d taken from him.

Before he got in, Logan paused, glancing back at you. “Darlin’... stay outta trouble while I’m gone.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m serious,” he grumbled, pointing a finger at you. “No more jobs. No more blood.”

“Fine, fine,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender. “No more jobs. Promise.”

Logan didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go. He climbed into the Chrysler, the engine sputtering to life before roaring as he pulled away. You stood there for a moment, watching the dust settle before heading into the smelting plant.

---

You knew things were bad when in the morning Logan was already back. And even worse when after your morning shower, he rushed you and Charles into the Chrysler.

Charles kept going on about ‘the girl’ and ‘Laura’ while Logan tried to get out of the property, only to end up cornered from all ends with tens of military Jeeps, and men, surrounding you.

“Logan.” Charles said.

“Yeah, I’m thinking,” he responded.

“The child. Logan, we mustn’t forget Laura.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Logan.”

Logan’s eyes followed a man with a bionic hand, until he leaned against the open passenger window where you sat.

“Huh. Charles Xavier.”

“Where’s Caliban?” Logan questioned.

The man looked in the back, “America’s most wanted octogenarian.”

“I’m a nonagenarian, actually.” Charles replied.

You and Logan shared a quick look until he opened the car door, slamming one man, before closing the door. “Where’s Caliban?” Logan asked again.

The man walked around the car to in front of Logan, “why don’t you tell me where the girl is first? Or I could ask Cue Ball. He seems quite friendly.”

“I told you, she’s not here. Where’s Caliban, motherfucker?” Logan hissed.

“Well, I left him in the same ditch he was gonna leave me in.”

Logan grasped Caliban’s collar and raised a fist with his other hand, his claws sliding out with a growl as a few men pulled him back and slammed him against the car.

You finally opened the car door, slamming it into the nearest man, who stumbled back before hitting the ground. Without missing a beat, you kicked out the legs of another, his grunt of surprise cut short as he hit the dirt. You darted forward, sliding across the hood of the Chrysler in a fluid motion, your boot connecting with the head of a man Logan had just tossed aside.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Logan barked, his claws dripping red as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “I told you to stay in the car!”

“Yeah, well,” you shot back, landing lightly on your feet, “I don’t take orders well, kotik. Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

Before Logan could reply, another soldier lunged at him. He ducked, the man’s momentum sending him straight into your waiting fist. You followed with a knee to his gut, sending him sprawling. Logan spared you a glance, his frustration mixed with a reluctant flicker of admiration.

The fight raged on, chaotic and brutal, until you caught sight of a man aiming a rifle in Logan’s direction. Reacting instinctively, you shoved Logan out of the way just as the soldier swung his weapon toward you. Before you could react, a sharp, heavy blow struck the side of your head, and you crumpled to the ground with a grunt.

“Y/N!” Logan snarled, turning toward you, only to be met with the butt of a rifle to his face. The impact sent him staggering, his claws retracting as he fell to his knees. Another blow came, this time to his temple, dropping him fully to the ground beside you, before being turned onto his back.

The world spun, the sound of boots crunching against gravel and harsh voices blending into a dull roar. Through the haze, you heard a voice above you—mocking, taunting.

“Jesus, Wolverine,” Donald Pierce drawled as he stood over Logan, his bionic hand flexing with a metallic whine. “Seeing you like this just breaks my damn heart.”

Logan groaned, “as soon as I rip it out of your chest, fuck-stick.”

Pierce smirked, unfazed. “Cute.” Then, with a swift kick, he sent Logan’s face back into the dirt. He turned to the men surrounding the Chrysler, jerking his head toward the smelting plant. “Go get her.”

Her? You blinked through the pain, trying to focus. Laura. Charles had been talking about her—the girl. You struggled to move, but the sharp ache in your head made it feel impossible. Beside you, Logan let out a low growl, his hand twitching toward the claws that refused to come out fast enough.

“Stay down, sweetheart,” Logan muttered, his voice rough but laced with concern. “Don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

You shot him a glare, your lip curling despite the pounding in your skull. “Too late for that.”

---

Before one of the men could put the cuffs on Laura, Logan came behind and stabbed his claws through the man’s chest, before taking down the other two on Laura’s sides with two quick swipes.

Laura sat up and pulled the grappling arrow out of her chest, cutting the connecting string off before getting grabbed by two other men pulling her away.

Logan threw the man over his shoulder, the soldier hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Blood dripped from the bullet wound in his arm, but Logan didn’t slow down. His eyes darted toward Laura as she let out a feral scream, her small form writhing as two soldiers attempted to haul her away.

One man dropped her immediately, clutching his stomach where Logan’s claws had torn through. Laura took the opening, stabbing her foot claw into the other soldier’s shin. His scream echoed as she yanked the claw free, following up with a vicious kick to his jaw that sent him sprawling.

“Darlin’, get in the car!” Logan barked at you as he tore another soldier off his feet. The crunch of bones beneath his claws was drowned out by gunfire and shouts.

“Not a chance!” you shouted back, ducking behind a nearby Jeep to avoid a spray of bullets. Your head still pounded from earlier, but adrenaline pushed the pain aside. You grabbed a tire iron from the Jeep, spun out from cover, and swung it into the ribs of the nearest soldier. He crumpled with a groan, and you turned just in time to dodge another attacker’s baton.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, sweetheart!” Logan growled, swiping at a soldier who had tried to sneak up on him.

You rolled your eyes, blocking the next blow with the tire iron. “Like you’re doing any better, kotik!”

Laura scrambled toward you, her face streaked with blood and dirt. “Get her in the car!” Logan yelled as he blocked another punch, his claws slicing upward in a clean, brutal motion.

“C’mere, kid,” you muttered, grabbing Laura’s arm and pulling her behind you. “We’ve got to—”

A metallic hand grabbed your shoulder, yanking you back with inhuman strength. You twisted, but Donald was already leering down at you. “Aren’t you a fiery one?” he sneered, tightening his grip. “Let’s see how well you fight without—”

“Wrong move, asshole,” you spat, slamming the tire iron into the side of his head. He staggered, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Logan took a glance at the Chrysler, where more soldiers surrounded the car and back at you, who used your widow bites and knocked two men down.

Yeah, you could handle yourself. For now.

He took off running to the car to protect Charles as you grabbed a gun from one of the men’s halter and shot him in the head with it.

Logan sprinted toward the Chrysler, dodging a flurry of bullets that ricocheted off the gravel and bounced harmlessly off the car's frame. A soldier rounded the hood, his rifle aimed squarely at Logan’s chest. Logan didn’t even slow down—his claws shot out with a slick metallic hiss, and in one fluid motion, he slashed upward, sending the man sprawling with a guttural scream.

Logan climbed into the driver’s seat as Charles spoke, “as I told you, Logan, she’s a mutant like you.”

He turned the key in the ignition, “hold on!”

“Very much like you.” Charles repeated quietly.

Logan slammed the Chrysler into gear, the wheels kicking up sand and gravel as he veered toward you and Laura. His jaw tightened when he saw Laura drive her claw through a man’s throat, her small frame twisting with lethal precision as she turned to tackle another soldier behind her.

You, bloodied but standing, slammed the butt of a stolen rifle into the face of a soldier charging at Laura, dropping him before he could grab her. You turned, wiping the back of your hand across your cheek, and saw the Chrysler barreling toward you.

“Finally,” you muttered, before ducking to avoid a wild swing from a soldier. Twisting, you landed a roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him sprawling.

“Y/N! Get the kid!” Logan barked through the open driver’s window.

“I’m working on it, Logan!” you shot back, grabbing Laura’s arm and pulling her closer. “Stay with me, kid,” you told her firmly, though you knew she didn’t need the reminder.

Logan slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt just a few feet from you and Laura. “Get in!”

Before you could respond, another soldier lunged toward you, his taser crackling. Laura reacted first, leaping onto the man with a feral snarl. Her claws tore through his chest, and he crumpled.

“Nice work, but we’re out of time,” you told Laura, dragging her toward the car.

Another burst of gunfire rang out, and you ducked, pulling Laura down with you. Logan growled, “get in the damn car, now!”

You didn’t hesitate this time, shoving Laura into the backseat and diving in after her. Logan punched the gas, and the Chrysler roared forward, kicking up another wave of dust that momentarily blinded the soldiers behind you.

“You need to go to the front, Lo.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Jeeps closing in from behind. Gravel sprayed beneath the tires as he swerved to avoid a shallow ditch. “They’re blockin’ the front!” he snapped. “We’ll have to take the back road—”

His voice trailed off as you reached into the glove compartment, yanking it open. A shiny, compact pistol clattered into your hand, and you checked the chamber with practiced ease.

Logan shot you a sharp look, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “What the hell is that doin’ in there?”

“I have one everywhere,” you said casually, rolling down the passenger window.

“You what?” Logan barked, his tone somewhere between disbelief and frustration.

You gave him a quick glance, your lips twitching. “Relax, kotik. Old habits.”

“Old habits my ass,” he grumbled, but his hands tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading back toward the front of the property.

At least six jeeps and four motorcycles closed in ahead of you, their headlights cutting through the swirling dust. Behind you, Charles muttered incoherently while Laura sat silently, her wide, intense eyes fixed on the chaos outside.

Logan growled, “Darlin’, you better be damn sure you know what you’re doin’ with that.”

“Don’t worry,” you replied, leaning halfway out the window to aim at one of the motorcycles. “I’m an excellent shot.”

The first bullet hit the lead bike’s front tire, sending the rider sprawling into the dirt. You barely had time to fire again before another bike swerved to avoid the crash, losing control and smashing into the side of a Jeep.

“Two down,” you muttered, reloading swiftly.

“Would you stay in the damn car?!” Logan growled, yanking the wheel hard to the left as another Jeep cut in front of you.

“I am in the car!” you shouted back, firing at a Jeep’s windshield. The bullet cracked the glass but didn’t stop the vehicle. “Mostly!”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“Not if I kill them first!”

“Damn it, Y/N!”

Ahead, the tracks stretched out into the distance, but the flashing lights of an oncoming train appeared on the horizon.

“Logan!” you shouted, firing off another shot at a motorcycle creeping up on your side. The rider veered off course, crashing into a ditch.

“I see it!” Logan barked, slamming his foot on the gas. The Chrysler roared as it hurtled toward the crossing, the Jeeps closing in behind you.

The train’s horn blared, a deafening warning that seemed to echo in your chest.

“We’re not gonna make it!” you yelled.

“Hold on!” Logan growled, his teeth bared as he pushed the Chrysler to its limits.

The train bore down on the tracks, the massive steel engine a blur of motion.

Logan swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding another Jeep, and then back to the right. Gravel and dirt kicked up in a storm as the Chrysler rocketed over the tracks just seconds before the train thundered past.

The pursuing vehicles skidded to a halt, trapped on the other side.

Logan didn’t slow down, his focus locked on the road ahead.

You slumped back into your seat, your breath coming fast. “Nice driving, kotik.”

“Don’t start,” Logan muttered, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

In the backseat, Charles chuckled softly. “See, Logan? She’s a natural.”

Logan shot you a quick glare. “You’re both gonna be the death of me.”

You smirked, tucking the pistol into the waistband of your jeans. “Not today, honey. Not today.”

---

“My name is Gabriela Lopez. I am a nurse. And for 10 years, I worked for Transigen Research in Mexico City. Transigen is owned by an American company. What I am about to show you is illegal… in the U.S. and Canada. They told us we were part of a pharmaceutical study. But, of course, that was a lie. These children were born in Transigen. They were born here… and have never left. They have never seen the sun or the ocean… rain or snow… or any of God’s creatures. They have no birth certificates… no names… besides the ones we have given them. They were raised in the bellies of Mexican girls. Girls no one can find anymore. Their fathers are semillas geneticas… special seeds in bottles.”

“Birthday? No birth.”

“Maria. We do not dress them up for Halloween. We do not call them ‘baby’ or kiss boo-boos. Don’t think of them as children. Think of them as things… with patents and copyrights. Comprende?”

“Si, senor.”

“They thought we were too poor and stupid to understand. We’re poor, yes… but we are not stupid. This is business. They are making soldiers. Killers. These are babies of mutantes…”

The video abruptly cut off as the phone died. Logan tore off his glasses and looked out of the car at Laura, who was still riding the mechanical horse at the front of the gas station.

“North Dakota,” Charles stated. Logan hummed in response as Charles continued, “you took that woman’s money. You said you would take the child there.”

You glanced out the window, following Logan’s gaze as Laura grew angry as the machine stopped.

“What is she?” Logan asked.

“She’s your daughter, Logan. Alkali has your genetic code.” Charles answered.

“Not just mine,” Logan said, as he went to the car door and opened it.

“Logan…”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t wanna hear about it anymore.”

“Logan…”

“Just stop.”

“I have to pee.”

Logan huffed before grabbing the wheelchair out of the trunk and helping Charles into it. You got out with your wallet, unlocking the fuel cap. “I’ll get gas, you handle him and Laura,” you spoke, as Logan responded with a nod and some grumbling.

---

Logan drove to Oklahoma City, where the bright, colorful lights of the city shone brightly. Laura woke up and moved to the window, peering at them.

“Is this where we’re hiding out?” Charles asked.

“We’re not hiding out.” Logan responded, “we’re gonna get a couple of hours’ sleep… clean up, get some new clothes, get a new ride and get outta here.”

He pulled the Chrysler in front of Harrah’s Hotel and Casino. Logan walked around the limo to the valet, “hey. Hey, keep it out front, all right?”

Logan quickly got Charles settled into his wheelchair as you followed behind Laura. The four of you walked in, you and Logan quickly booking a room with the money you earned from your latest job, before heading for the elevator.

On the way to the elevator, Laura stopped in front of a display window, looking the mannequin’s, but more particularly the clothes on the smaller one.

Logan pushed Charles to the elevator while you stopped behind Laura. You pushed Laura in the direction of the two men, calling out to Logan, “I’ll get some clothes. You guys head up.”

Laura looked up at you, her stolen sunglasses still over her eyes. “I’ll buy you the unicorn shirt. Go with them.” You said in Spanish.

For a moment, Laura didn’t budge, her expression unreadable behind the shades. Then, with a small huff that might have been reluctant agreement—or just annoyance—she turned and trailed after Logan. You waited until they entered the elevator before heading back to the display.

Inside the shop, you picked up the unicorn shirt Laura had been staring at, along with a few other items. You knew she wouldn’t say it, but something about her quiet intensity made you want to do these small things for her. Maybe it was because you saw pieces of Logan in her—the stubbornness, the silence, the weight of something unspoken.

Once the purchases were made, you headed back to the room.

---

When you walked in, Logan was already pulling off his shirt, tossing it onto the armchair with a tired grunt. Charles was settled on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV while Laura sat cross-legged on the bed, the sunglasses still on her face.

“Got you something,” you said, holding up the bag.

Laura tilted her head but didn’t move. You placed the bag on the bed and took out the unicorn shirt, unfolding it to show her. “See? Told you.”

She reached out slowly, taking it from your hands, her fingers brushing the fabric like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. After a moment, she clutched it to her chest, still silent.

“Not even a thank you, huh?” Logan muttered from across the room, pulling on a clean shirt.

“Logan,” you said warningly, shooting him a look.

“What?” he grumbled, but he didn’t push it further.

Laura hopped off the bed, clutching the shirt as she headed for the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

“She likes it,” Charles said with a faint smile, still watching the TV.

“She’d like it more if it had claws,” Logan muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

You crossed the room, standing in front of him. “Not everything has to be sharp and deadly, kotik,” you teased, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

Logan glanced up at you, his features softening just slightly. “You spoil her already.”

“She deserves it,” you said simply. “And don’t start. You’re the softie between us.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, sure. Real soft.”

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You are, whether you admit it or not.”

“Mm,” Logan grunted, but his hand found your waist, tugging you closer. “You done playin’ dress-up, sweetheart?”

“For now,” you replied, stepping back before he could pull you into his lap. “You should sleep. You’re running on fumes.”

“I’m fine.”

“Logan.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah.”

Charles turned off the TV, speaking up from his spot on the bed. “You two should rest. I’ll keep an eye on Laura.”

“You sure, Chuck?” Logan asked, his voice softer.

“I’m sure.”

You placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder, nodding toward the bed in the other room. “Come on.”

Logan grumbled but followed your lead, climbing onto the mattress beside you. You stretched out next to him, his arm slipping around your waist out of habit. He exhaled heavily, the weight of the past few days evident in every line of his body.

“Get some sleep, honey,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his arm.

His grip tightened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, quietly, he said, “You too, darlin’.”

---

You walked around the room, looking for bag of clothes you had bought the night before while Charles and Laura watched some old Western in the other room.

You found the bag and pulled out a plain black tank top before tilting your head when you heard Logan’s coughing from the bathroom.

Muttering to yourself in Russian you quickly pulled it over your head. Before you were able to pull it down all the way Logan finally came out of the bathroom, dressed in the new outfit you bought him last night.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the bruises scattered across your back as you pulled your tank top into place. The sharpness in his gaze softened into something like worry, though his tone stayed gruff.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.”

You glanced over your shoulder, puzzled at first, then followed his line of sight. The darkening marks along your ribs and lower back told the story. “Didn’t feel it,” you replied, tugging the tank top all the way down before grabbing your leather jacket off the bed. “Didn’t notice until now.”

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer. “You should’ve said something. What if it’s worse than bruises?”

You shrugged, slipping the jacket on. “If it was worse, I’d know by now. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing,” he echoed with a scoff, his voice rising. “You took hits out there, Y/N. You can’t just shake that off like you used to. You’re not healing—”

“Maybe I’d heal better if you weren’t drinking yourself half-dead every damn day.” You zipped up the jacket and turned to face him, your tone sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “This ain’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” You folded your arms, meeting his glare head-on. “Your healing factor’s slowing down, Logan. You think I don’t notice how long it takes for those cuts to close? Or how you cough blood into the sink every morning?”

“That’s different,” he argued, his voice dropping to a growl.

“It’s not. You’re killing yourself, one bottle at a time, and you won’t even talk to me about it.”

His eyes narrowed, his temper simmering just below the surface. “I don’t need you to fix me, sweetheart.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you shot back. “I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re too damn stubborn to let me.”

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. His hands clenched at his sides as though he was fighting the urge to slam them into something—or pull you close and end the fight with a kiss. Instead, he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Slaboumnyy,” you said sharply, your voice low but firm as you used the Russian nickname reserved for moments like this.

The word hung in the air, loaded with meaning. Logan’s expression shifted; the fight drained out of him, replaced by something like guilt.

You grabbed your hotel key and small purse off the nightstand, your movements brisk but controlled. “I’m going to get breakfast for Charles and Laura. You can fend for yourself.”

Before he could respond, you turned on your heel and walked out the door, letting it close behind you with a heavy thud.

---

The wait for breakfast was long, a bunch of drunk middle-aged men and women in front of you ordering copious amounts of greasy, unhealthy food.

When you finally got the food an hour later, you made your way back to the elevator, noticing a few men in black walking around the casino machines.

“Shit,” you muttered, as the elevator doors opened. You pressed the touch screen button for the 12th floor and hit the door close button, closing the doors in front of a group of tourists.

You got to the room and grabbed Laura from the bed, setting her down on the floor and putting Charles in his wheelchair. “Grab everything. We need to leave—”

A gunshot cut you off, just missing Charles’ head and hitting the window in front of him. One of the men aimed at Laura, and before he shot the trigger you threw yourself on top of her, the both of you falling to the ground.

As soon as the thud of your bodies reverberated through the room, a high pitch noise sounded out in your head, freezing the men in the room. Laura tried to move against the invisible barrier, crawling towards the syringes on the floor.

You were only able to pause time in the room. Every sound, every ripple in the air froze in place as the chaos stilled to an unnatural silence. The strain was immediate—like claws digging into your skull. You bit down on a scream, the raw pressure pressing against your mind making it hard to breathe.

Laura, mid-crawl toward the syringes, was frozen along with the attackers, her small form locked in place. Even Charles was still, though the effects of his seizure were evident in the strained lines of his face. Time had stopped, but you weren’t immune to its echoes. The vibrations of the seizure pulsed against your powers, like trying to hold back an ocean with a net.

Your body trembled as you pushed yourself to your feet. The men were frozen, guns raised, expressions twisted in mid-action. You moved through them, grabbing a discarded weapon from one man’s frozen grip. A quick check confirmed it was loaded. Good.

One by one, you moved swiftly and efficiently, just like your old training taught you. Your breathing was shallow, but your movements were precise—two shots to the head, then the next target. You didn’t have the time or energy to be anything but ruthless.

When the last man fell, you dropped the weapon with a shaky exhale. Your gaze landed on the syringes scattered across the floor near Charles. Each step toward them was a battle as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. The strain of holding the room in stasis was eating away at you, but you couldn’t let go—not yet.

Kneeling, you grabbed the nearest syringe and, with trembling hands, plunged it into Charles’ arm. The effect was immediate. The tension in the air shattered as Charles stilled, the seizure abating. Time snapped back into place like a rubber band, sending a ripple through your entire body.

Laura gasped audibly as she came back to awareness, blinking rapidly as she scrambled to her feet. Charles groaned, slumping in his wheelchair, his breathing labored but improving.

Your vision swam, and you swayed dangerously, your knees buckling. Before you could hit the floor, strong hands caught you, pulling you back against a solid chest.

“Darlin’,” Logan’s gruff voice was close, his tone sharp with concern. He turned you around, his hands framing your face as his gaze searched yours. “What the hell did you just do?”

“Stopped them,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. “Stopped it.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he looked around the room, taking in the bodies of the attackers. He pulled you closer, his arms steady and grounding as he spoke low. “You’re shaking. You okay?”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence cutting through the fog of exhaustion. “I’m fine. Just… takes a lot out of me.”

Logan didn’t look convinced. His brow furrowed as he adjusted his grip, keeping you upright. “You shouldn’t push yourself like that.”

“They were going to kill us, kotik.” Your voice was firm, though your body betrayed your weakness as you sagged slightly against him. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Logan muttered a curse under his breath, his hand pressing lightly against your back, mindful of the bruises he’d noticed earlier. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” you shot back weakly, earning a faint smirk from him despite the tension.

“Yeah, yeah.” His smirk faded as his gaze flicked toward Laura and Charles, who were watching silently. “You two okay?”

Laura nodded, clutching her unicorn shirt like a shield. Charles gave a faint smile, though his face was pale.

You shook your head. “We’re not out of the woods yet. More will come.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Let ‘em. I’ll handle it.”

“We need to leave,” you insisted, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. “Now.”

Logan nodded, his grip on you tightening briefly before he helped you to stand on your own. “Let’s get out of here.”

Laura moved to your side, her small hand brushing against yours. For once, her silence felt loud, but you gave her a reassuring nod. “I’m okay,” you told her softly, though the exhaustion in your voice betrayed the truth.

Logan grabbed Charles’ wheelchair, his protective instincts on high alert. “Let’s move.”

The four of you made your way to the hallway, Logan leading the way, his senses sharp as he checked for threats. As you walked, his hand found yours briefly, giving it a firm squeeze. You squeezed back, a silent acknowledgment that, for now, you were both still standing—and still fighting.

---

“Emergency personnel are still on scene at Harrah’s Casino Hotel in Oklahoma City… where at least 400 guests were stricken with temporary paralysis yesterday. Many are noting a similarity to the Westchester incident over a year ago… that left over 600 injured and took the lives of seven mutants, including several of the X-Men.”

Charles was drifting in and out of sleep as Laura stared out the window with her sunglasses on, locking and unlocking the door.

“Knock it off,” Logan said. Laura didn’t stop. “I said, knock it off!”

“She’s a child, Logan. And, point of fact, she’s your—”

Logan cut off Charles, “how long has it been since you took your meds?” Charles exhaled, turning his head. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know! Two days.”

“You saw what happened yesterday. If that shit had gone on any longer, everyone in that casino—”

This time Charles cut off Logan. “I did what I had to do to save Laura. And Y/N.”

“What?” You said quietly, rubbing your temples.

“You didn’t do anything. You just freaked out and had a fucking seizure!” Logan exclaimed.

“I guess you prefer me pharmaceutically castrated, rambling on like a lunatic. So much easier for you.”

“Easier? Jesus!” Logan scoffed, “there is nothing easy about you, Charles, nothing!”

“Yes, yes, please be like the rest of the world… blaming someone else for your boring shit.”

“I know, Pop, I’m such a giant disappointment.”

“Logan—” you tried to comment, before Charles continued.

“You honestly derive no sense of purpose from what we’re doing?”

Logan briefly looked in the back of the truck at Charles, “okay, what are we doing? Hmm?”

“There is a young mutant sitting in our car.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And where we’re taking her, there are others. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Uh, yeah, means nothing to me. Especially since Nurse Gabriella made all that Eden shit up with fucking comic books.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles asked.

Logan gently moved your arm off the console, opening it and grabbing a bottle of pills.

“Give those to him.” He said, handing you the bottle.

Not feeling up to a fight you complied, shaking out two pills and handing them to Charles behind you with a sympathetic smile. Charles popped them in his mouth and washed it down with some of his bottled water.

“I wanna see it.” Logan commanded, looking back at Charles as he exaggeratedly stuck his tongue out. You put the pill bottle back into the console.

The truck fell into silence, until a semi-truck moved too close to your own truck.

“Motherfucking auto-trucks.” Logan said angrily.

“Language, Logan.” Charles chided. “And you’re screaming at a machine.”

Laura looked out her window to see a pick-up truck towing a horse trailer. “Oh, what? She can gut a man with her feet, she can’t hear a few naughty words, huh?” Logan replied.

“She can learn to be better.”

“You mean, better than me?” Logan questioned.

“Actually, yes.” Charles responded. “And, by the way, Laura’s foot claws are the obvious result of her gender, you know.”

“Is that a fact?”

“In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver.” Charles continued.

“Good to know.” Logan said.

“She uses her front claws for hunting and the back claws defensively.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan said, speaking sarcastically again.

“Thus, ensuring their survival.” Charles finished.

Almost right after Charles finished speaking, an auto-truck honked and began to move over to the lane that your truck was in without looking. Logan swerved quickly, driving into oncoming traffic. Laura held onto Charles to keep him steady while you grabbed the handle on the roof. Logan turned the truck when he was clear, coming to a stop.

As the four of you got your breaths back, the truck pulling a horse trailer stopped across the road. Horses ran out of the trailer and a young boy and his parents got out, rushing to try and get the horses off the road.

“We should help them,” Charles suggested.

“No, we have to keep going. Someone will come along.” Logan said.

“Someone has come along.”

Logan looked over to you as you waved your hand and sighed, giving him an affirmative. Logan drove the truck across the road and parked the truck next to the other one. Charles rolled down the window and closed his eyes, while you and Logan got out of the car. The horses all walked back to the trailer and stopped. Logan looked back at Charles who opened his eyes.

Laura had quietly exited the truck, coming to stand by you as Logan spoke, “hey, uh, you need a hand?”

---

The group got the truck and connected trailer out of the ditch as the husband patted the front of the truck. “Ah. Good, got it. Come on, let’s get home.”

“Laura!” Logan called out. You stood by Laura as she pet one of the horses in the trailer.

“Thank you so much for your help. I’m Kathryn.” She put out her hand.

“James.” Logan said as he shook her hand.

“This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi.” Nate raised a hand.

“Hey.” Logan responded.

Kathryn looked back at Laura, “that your wife and daughter?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s our daughter Laura, and my wife Y/N. And my dad, Chuck.” Logan pointed at Charles in the truck who waved back. “Come on, Laura, let’s go.”

“Well, can we show our appreciation and treat the three of you to a decent meal? We don’t live far from here.” Kathryn asked kindly.

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“That would be lovely!” Charles answered.

---

“You wanna say grace? Say grace, baby?” Kathryn told Nate.

“Uh, thank you, God, for this food… and for our new friends the Howletts.” Nate began.

“Mmm. They came to our aid.” Kathryn cut in.

“Amen.” The family said.

Will, Kathryn’s husband and Nate’s father, handed a bowl to Charles. “Here we go. Here you go, Charles.”

“Thank you, sir.” He responded.

Laura started to eat, using her fingers to eat the mashed potatoes. Logan reached over and tapped her shoulder before showing her the fork next to her plate as she took it from his hands.

Charles then handed a bowl of corn to Laura, who used the large spoon to put two big spoonful’s on her plate as Logan took the bowl from her, waiting for her to put the spoon back in.

Kathryn, who was watching the interaction, looked at Logan, “oh, there’s plenty more if she wants.”

“She’s fine. Thank you.” Logan replied.

“This is delicious.” Charles said, as Laura shoveled corn into her mouth, Nate watching her with hesitant and curious eyes.

“Oh, thank you.” Kathryn responded.

“It’s so good.” Charles added.

“Where are you all headed?” Will asked.

“Uh… Oregon.” Logan answered as Charles answered with “South Dakota” at the same time.

“Well, Oregon and then South Dakota.” Charles explained.

“Vacation?” Kathryn questioned.

“Uh… yes. Uh, long overdue. We’re city folk. Always wanted to take a road trip, see the country.” Charles paused, gesturing to the family, “and meet the people in it.”

Logan raised a brow as Kathryn replied, “that sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“Oh. If we go traipsing all over the country, who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will responded.

“Exactly. I say, let it go.”

“And live off what?”

“The Lord will provide.”

“I’m still waiting for the Lord to provide me with a new thresher.” Will said, as Nate laughed.

“All the same, I’d love to travel someday.” Kathryn finished.

Charles pointed at her, “and I bet you will.”

Nate leaned back in his chair, “I could drop out of school.”

Kathryn looked at her son, “okay, let’s not go that far.”

“I mean, I’ll do it.”

“No. No.”

“Why not?”

“You wanna travel, I wanna travel.”

“Son. Son.”

“That sounds good to you, right?” Will cut in softly.

“This is the perfect plan.” Nate replied.

“Why would you want to do that, Nate?” Charles asked.

Logan looked over at Charles and gestured with his fork, “careful, you’re speaking to a man who ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?”

Charles hummed and nodded, “yes, it was a… it was a special needs school. Um…”

A small smile was on Logan’s face, “uh-huh. That’s a good description.”

Charles pointed at Logan briefly, “these two were there, too.”

Laura looked over at Logan, a small smile on her own face. “Oh, yeah, no. Um… I got kicked out a few times.”

Nate laughed as Charles continued, “I wish I could say you were a good pupil, but the words choke me.” They all laughed, Laura a silent laugh as she looked over at Logan. “Not that you were much better,” Charles added, looking at you.

You let out a small chuckle, “yeah, I was probably worse than Logan. Wasn’t the greatest student.”

The chatter continued until everyone was done. Logan stood up, “ma’am, I can’t thank you enough for this. Uh, it was great. But, we have a long drive ahead of us, so—”

“But you need to rest, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ll find a motel somewhere.”

“The nearest one is two hours from here and it’s not even that nice.” Will said.

“We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter and you and your wife can sleep in the living room on the convertible.”

“Kathryn, it’s very, very nice of you, but we really should go.”

“We can leave early in the morning.” Charles cut in. “Break of dawn, as it were.”

Logan looked over at you as you sighed and shrugged. At least the four of you wouldn’t have to sleep in the truck.

“Okay, why don’t we wash up, Pop?” Logan pushed Charles away to the bathroom.

“Um, do you two want some dessert?” Kathryn asked.

Laura looked up at you, almost as if asking for permission. “Go ahead,” you said in Spanish. Kathryn gave the two of you a plate as the water from the sink sputtered.

“Oh, shit!”

Logan came out from the bathroom where he and Charles just were “What’s going on?”

“Nate!” Will called out. “Go fill up the tub before we lose pressure. Honey, check the sink.”

“They shut it off again.” Kathryn said, as Logan watched Nate go into the bathroom.

“They are just not going to let this thing go.” Will commented.

“Well, you might as well handle it now.”

“It can wait till the morning. We just had rain last night.”

“We got four houseguests and a sink full of dishes.”

“All right, all right.” Will whispered to his wife, before looking over at Logan. “The pump stations that supplies us is a mile and a half from here. Sometimes it gets itself shut off.”

“By assholes.” Nate said, in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Hey!” Will reprimanded.

Laura lifted the pie dish lid as Logan came over to her, “no.”

“My son is happy to go with you.” Charles added.

Logan looked over at Charles as Will spoke, “no, no, no, that’s fine. The men that do this, sometimes they can be…”

“I can go.” Nate chimed in.

“No, you got homework.” Kathryn said.

“All right, I’ll go. Just, uh, let me get my dad settled.” Logan walked over to Charles in his wheelchair and picked him up, before making his way up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

You lead Laura by the shoulders up the stairs, following Logan and Charles. Laura turned her head to Nate’s room, his door cracked open. “Be good, muñeca.” You said in Spanish, as Laura looked up at you for a few moments, holding your gaze before entering his room.

When you walked into the room, Logan had already tucked Charles into bed. “Want TV? There’s TV here.” Logan questioned.

“I’m fine.” Charles answered.

“Okay. Get some rest.” Logan went to exit when Charles spoke. You watched, and listened, from the door.

“You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. A home, people who love each other. Safe place. You should take a moment and feel it.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” Logan walked closer to the door.

“Logan. Logan!” Logan turned around to face Charles, “you still have time.”

Logan sighed, “Charles, the world is not the same as it was. We’re taking a risk hanging around here, you know that. And where we’re going, Eden… it doesn’t exist. Her nurse got it from a comic book. You understand? It’s not real.”

“It is for Laura. It is for Laura.” Charles said.

“Get some rest.” Logan responded, walking over to you as he closed the door.

You crossed your arms, standing firm in the hallway. “I know you don’t believe in Eden, but—”

Logan cut you off, his voice low but edged with frustration. “Do you believe in it, darlin’? Really?”

You paused, meeting his tired eyes. He wanted you to say no, to back him up, to give him some sort of permission to stop running. But you couldn’t do that. Not when Laura’s life was at stake. “I don’t,” you admitted softly. “But if there’s even a chance that it exists, don’t we owe it to Laura to try?”

Logan exhaled sharply, looking away as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been chasin’ ghosts, sweetheart. That nurse believed in fairy tales, and now we’re followin’ a damn map from a comic book. It’s—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It’s not real. You know it’s not.”

You stepped closer, your voice quieter but no less firm. “That video we saw... on her nurse’s phone. It reminded me of the Red Room.” You hesitated, your hands curling into fists as old memories clawed their way to the surface. “If Eden exists, it’s not just about being free from what they did to her. It’s about a place where she can finally feel safe. Like she belongs. It’s exactly the kind of place I would've dreamed of as a kid.”

Logan turned to you, his expression softening despite the frustration. “Darlin’—”

You reached out, placing a hand on his chest. “I know you don’t think it’s out there, kotik. But we’ve come this far. She’s a kid, Logan. She’s just a kid.” Your voice broke slightly. “Don’t we owe it to her to believe? Just for a little while?”

He let out another heavy sigh, his hand coming up to cover yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, the roughness of his skin grounding you. “I get it,” he muttered after a moment. “I do. But it doesn’t mean I’m not scared of what happens when we don’t find it. What do I tell her then?”

“You won’t have to,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Because we’ll find it. And if we don’t, we’ll figure something out. Together.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes lingering on you. He looked torn between wanting to argue and wanting to believe you. After a moment, he just nodded. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “That’s why we work so well together.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you into his arms. The embrace was brief, but it was enough to feel the weight he was carrying. When he pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. “All right,” he said quietly. “But we leave at first light. No more detours.���

You nodded, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “First light. Promise.”

Logan watched you for a moment longer before stepping away, muttering, “You better get some rest. It’s gonna be a long drive tomorrow.”

You smiled softly as he walked back down the hallway, his footsteps heavy but purposeful. Laura peeked out from Nate’s room, watching him go before turning to you. Her wide eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something softer—trust.

“Come on, muñeca,” you said, holding out your hand. “Let’s get you settled.”

She took your hand without hesitation, and as the two of you made your way back to the room, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of hope.

---

Kathryn set up the pull-out bed in the living room, letting you lay down while Logan was out helping Will with the water.

You knew you wouldn’t sleep, it was far too engrained in you to not sleep in a strange place, where anything, anyone, could be lurking around.

After some time, it couldn’t have been more than an hour, you heard familiar footsteps. But the closer they got to you, you started to realize that they were just a tad bit too heavy to be Logan’s.

You turned onto your back quickly, the blanket falling to your waist as you caught his wrist, the sharpened tip of his claws nearly grazing your chest. Your heart pounded as your mind registered what you were seeing—Logan. But not Logan. His features were wrong. Sharper. Colder. The dead look in his eyes made your stomach churn.

You moved to kick him, trying to dislodge his weight, but his other hand slammed into your stomach. Pain shot through you as his claws tore into your flesh. A strangled gasp escaped your lips as he twisted his wrist, retracting the blades before you could even react, and you hit the floor hard.

Blood spilled from your wound, warm and sticky against your trembling hands. Your vision blurred as you tried to sit up, but a cold wave of nausea overtook you.

Laura’s scream cut through the haze, sharp and furious, echoing from upstairs. The sound jolted you back to focus.

No. Not her. Not Charles.

Your fingers twitched, and you willed yourself to focus past the pain. The air around you shimmered faintly as you reached deep within yourself, finding the thread of time. Your powers resisted—your body already weakening—but you pushed through, rewinding the moment.

Agony gave way to an excruciating pressure, like a rubber band snapping back into place, as the wound began to heal itself. The blood receded, the pain dulled, and your breathing steadied. You gasped for air, drenched in sweat, your body trembling from the effort.

Your eyes darted to the stairs, a sense of urgency overpowering the exhaustion. Using the couch for leverage, you pulled yourself to your feet. You staggered slightly, clutching the armrest to steady yourself.

"Laura!" you called, your voice hoarse.

Another scream tore through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws clashing. You pushed yourself forward, each step heavy and unsteady, as you made your way toward the chaos.

You heard a gunshot and a scream from upstairs. You limped to the door, where the lookalike—clone—carried Laura, who let out another scream.

Grabbing the pistol from behind your back, you shot at the clone. The bullet struck his shoulder, forcing him to drop Laura. She landed hard on the ground, her hands and legs bound with mutant inhibitors. A low growl escaped the clone's throat as his attention snapped to you.

"That's right," you muttered, steadying your aim despite the pain radiating through your body. "Come and get me, asshole."

He charged toward you with feral intensity, his claws slicing through the air. You fired another shot, this time grazing his side. It slowed him down, but only for a second. Before you could fire again, he was on you, knocking the pistol from your hand.

You stumbled back, barely dodging the first swipe of his claws. The second swing caught your arm, and you cried out as the sharp pain ripped through your shoulder. Blood seeped through your shirt, but you gritted your teeth and pressed forward, using the momentum to land a hard kick to his stomach. He staggered back, giving you a split second to grab a piece of broken wood from the ground.

The clone recovered quickly, his predatory gaze locking onto you once more. He lunged, but this time you sidestepped, driving the makeshift weapon into his side. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it slowed him down.

The clone backhanded you, sending you sprawling onto the dirt. Stars danced in your vision as you struggled to get up, your body screaming in protest. He advanced on Laura, who was thrashing against her restraints, her small frame writhing like a trapped animal.

“No!” you shouted, forcing yourself to your feet. You reached deep within, pulling at the thread of time, willing it to bend. The world around you shimmered faintly, the air growing heavy with the effort. You managed to slow the clone's movements, just enough to stagger forward and position yourself between him and Laura.

Before the clone could strike again, a familiar growl pierced the air.

“Get the hell away from them!” Logan’s voice roared.

The clone barely had time to turn before Logan tackled him, the force of their collision sending both of them to the ground. The two Logans clashed in a brutal, chaotic fight, claws slashing and tearing through flesh.

“Darlin’, get her to the truck!” Logan shouted, not breaking his focus on his opponent.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Laura, you picked her up, your body protesting every movement. She screamed as she watched Logan fight the clone, but leaned into you for support, her wide eyes filled with something unspoken—trust.

“It’s okay, muñeca,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We’re almost there.”

Gunfire erupted from nearby as a group of men yelled at the clone of Logan. The distraction gave you just enough time to pull Laura toward the truck, where Charles’ lifeless body lay in the backseat.

“Stay with him,” you told Laura, grabbing your vibranium blade from your ankle holster and slashing the inhibitors off her wrists and ankles as fast as your trembling hands allowed. “You hear me? Stay with him.”

Laura nodded silently, her small hands clutching at Charles’ blanket as she climbed into the truck. Her gaze lingered on you, worried and uncertain, but she stayed put.

You grabbed a device from underneath your pant leg, throwing it at the group of men. A grenade, that only released a toxin putting them to sleep.

Only a few seconds after, the armored truck blew up, the fiery blast sending shockwaves through the night. You shielded Laura with your body, the heat of the explosion brushing against your back as debris scattered around you. The clone and Logan were still locked in a brutal struggle, their grunts and growls barely audible over the roaring fire.

You turned back just in time to see Logan thrown to the ground, the clone towering over him, claws raised for the killing blow. Logan barely rolled out of the way, the claws digging into the dirt where he had just been.

A loud roar of an engine cut through the chaos, drawing everyone’s attention. Will’s van came hurtling toward the clone, its headlights blinding against the darkened field. You held your breath as the van slammed into the clone with a sickening crunch, sending him flying back into the thresher. The metal prongs of the machine impaled him, halting his movement with a grotesque finality.

Logan staggered to his feet, breathing heavily, blood and dirt smeared across his face. You started toward him, but Will jumped out of the van first, holding his shotgun with shaking hands.

Will’s eyes darted between the impaled clone and Logan. He approached cautiously, his boots crunching against the debris-strewn ground. Raising the shotgun, Will aimed it directly at the clone’s head, his expression grim and resolute. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, the deafening blast echoing across the field.

The clone’s body went limp, his head snapping back against the metal with the force of the shot. You exhaled sharply, relief mingling with the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

Will turned toward Logan, his face a mask of fury and grief. Without a word, he raised the shotgun again, this time aiming it at Logan.

Your heart stopped.

Logan stood still, his bloodied chest heaving as he met Will’s gaze. He didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word. You could see the exhaustion in his stance, the resignation.

The trigger clicked.

Empty.

For a moment, everything was still. Then Will staggered, his knees buckling as the shotgun slipped from his hands. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his body folding into itself like a marionette with cut strings.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling your attention. He was limping toward you, his face etched with exhaustion and pain. “We need to go. Now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turned back to Laura, who was staring at Charles’ lifeless body in the bed of the truck.

---

They had buried Charles in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and some water nearby. Logan put the shovel in the ground. Laura took out her earbuds as Logan spoke quietly, “well… it’s got water, and…” Laura moved over to Logan and put her hand around his wrist, both their knuckles bloody.

Logan looked down briefly before turned his gaze towards the small pond, “it’s got water.” His voice broke as he took a deep sigh. He plunged the shovel into the ground in anger, muttering, “fuck this,” a few times while walking back to the truck, shovel still in hand.

You stood by the makeshift grave, each breath hurting worse than the last. The exhaustion wasn’t making it much easier either.

Laura walked further down the grassy field to stand by a tree as she watched Logan try to turn on the truck, only for the engine to sputter.

Logan cursed multiple times before opening the hood. Laura noticed a man and his dog leaving his parked car some distance away. She turned back to Logan, how was now hitting the truck repeatedly with the shovel.

Moments later, Logan’s body wavered as he stumbled to the ground, passing out.

You walked over to Laura, your legs heavy, your body screaming for rest, but you pushed on. "You grab him," you said quietly, your voice strained as you nodded toward Logan's crumpled form. "I’ll get that guy’s station wagon."

Laura’s expression was unreadable, but her small frame seemed to stiffen with determination. She didn’t respond—she never did—but the faint glint in her eyes told you she understood. She moved quickly toward Logan, crouching beside him and wrapping her small arms around his wrist.

You turned away, your gaze locking onto the man and his dog in the distance. Your steps were uneven, every ounce of your body protesting, but you forced yourself forward. By the time you reached the station wagon, the man was just a few feet away from his car. His dog barked as he turned to face you, startled by your sudden appearance.

"Hey!" he called out, confusion written on his face. "What are you—?"

"I’m sorry about this," you interrupted, pulling your pistol from the back of your waistband and aiming it at the ground between you. "I need your car. Now."

The man froze, his hands instinctively raised. "Look, lady, I don’t want any trouble—"

"Neither do I," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the throbbing pain in your shoulder. "Keys. Please."

His hands fumbled into his pocket as he stared at you, fear and hesitation battling on his face. "Alright, alright," he muttered, tossing the keys toward you. "Take it."

You caught them and gave him a nod. "Thank you. You can keep the dog."

The man didn’t argue. He backed away slowly, taking the dog with him, his eyes never leaving you. You slid into the driver’s seat, the car’s worn interior creaking beneath you as you started the engine. Relief washed over you when it roared to life without hesitation.

You backed the station wagon up toward where Laura was struggling to drag Logan’s unconscious body towards you. You slammed the car into park and ran over, your legs moving on pure adrenaline at this point.

"Let me," you said, crouching down to grab Logan under his arms. Laura gave a reluctant glance but let go, stepping back to give you space.

"God, kotik, you don’t make this easy," you grunted, managing to hoist him up enough to half-drag, half-carry him toward the car. Laura moved ahead, opening the backseat door for you.

With a final heave, you got Logan inside, his weight slumping awkwardly against the seat. You turned to Laura, who was already climbing in beside him, her small hands moving to check his pulse instinctively.

You nodded at her. "You keep an eye on him. I’ll… drive.” Your voice trailed off, your exhaustion hitting its peak after lifting Logan into the car. Laura grabbed the keys from your hand without a fight from you as you passed out on the floor of the car.

---

Logan groaned as he woke up, looking directly at the ceiling to see wire fish and an IV bag above him. He coughed and the doctor immediately responded.

“Welcome back. I was starting to think I was gonna have to tell that nice little girl out in the waiting room her daddy’s gone.” Logan turned his head to face the doctor as he sighed, “I’d always hoped… that I’d get the chance to meet someone like you. There’s so few of you left.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Doc.” Logan groaned as he sat up, letting out a slight moan of pain. “But I really got to get on my way.”

“No, no, don’t do that. What you and your wife need is rest and treatment. You need to check—”

“My wife, where is she?”

“The next room—”

Before the doctor could finish talking, a high-pitched scream came from the room next door. Logan’s body tensed immediately. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain that radiated through him as he forced himself up. His head swam for a second, but he powered through it, instincts driving him forward.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, pushing past the doctor as he made for the door, pulling his shirt on but not buttoning it, eyes sharp and focused.

He barged into the adjacent room, only to find you standing there, fists clenched, a wild look in your eyes. A nurse was backed into the far corner of the room, pale as a ghost and trembling, her hands raised defensively. The sharp scent of antiseptic and medical supplies filled the small room, along with the tension that was thick enough to cut through.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice a mix of relief and concern. His eyes softened slightly as he saw you, but he didn’t dare move closer yet. "It’s alright. You're okay."

You were breathing heavily, your hands shaking, but your eyes snapped to his the moment you heard his voice. The fight-or-flight instinct coursing through your veins made it hard to focus. You’d woken up surrounded by sterile equipment, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. It was too familiar—a stark reminder of things you’d tried to bury deep down. The Black Widow training. The surgeries. The loss of control.

"Where are we?" you asked through gritted teeth, not taking your eyes off the nurse. "What the hell is this place?"

Logan glanced at the nurse, then back at you. “Laura brought us here. A clinic. Some walk-in place,” he explained, his tone steady but gentle. He could see you were on edge, ready to snap at anything that moved.

Your eyes darted around the room before they landed back on Logan. The confusion and panic swirling inside you slowly began to ebb, replaced by the familiar presence of him. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to ground yourself.

"I don’t—" you swallowed hard, your voice shaky. "I don’t remember how we got here."

"Neither do I," Logan admitted, taking a step closer to you. His movements were slow, non-threatening.

The nurse, still cowering in the corner, finally spoke up, her voice trembling. “I-I was just checking her vitals… she woke up—”

“She’s fine," Logan interrupted, his gaze flickering toward the nurse. "You should go.” There was no malice in his voice, but the unspoken command was clear.

The nurse nodded frantically, not needing to be told twice. She slipped out of the room, leaving the two of you standing there, the heavy silence settling in her absence.

Logan turned his full attention back to you, his brow furrowing in concern. “Darlin’, you good?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine.” But your voice betrayed you—it was shaky, uncertain.

He stepped closer, cautiously this time, his rough hands reaching for yours. "Come here."

You didn’t resist, letting him pull you into his chest. His warmth, the steady beat of his heart, was a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions still swirling inside you. You buried your face into his uninjured shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Logan rested his chin on top of your head, holding you close. He could feel the tension slowly leaving your body as you leaned into him. "We’re safe," he murmured, his voice rough but soothing. "Just a clinic. We’ll be outta here soon."

You took a shaky breath, nodding against him. "I just… I hate waking up in places like this. Medical rooms. Makes me feel like I’m back in…" Your voice trailed off, but Logan didn’t need you to finish. He knew what you meant. He knew your past, the nightmares that clung to both of you like shadows.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his arms tightening around you just a fraction. “But you’re not there. Not anymore.”

For a moment, you stayed like that—wrapped in the safety of his embrace, the world outside falling away. The pain in your body, the chaos of the last few days, all of it faded in the warmth of his presence. Logan was your anchor, just like you had been his for so many years.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Where’s Laura?" you asked, your voice still quiet but steadier now.

Logan exhaled softly, nodding toward the door. "Out in the waiting room, apparently. She’s fine. Tough kid.”

You managed a small smile at that, despite everything. “She’s tougher than most adults I know.”

Logan huffed a small, tired laugh, but his expression softened as he looked at you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there. “You’re tough too, ya know?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, but the tension in your body had melted away for the most part. “I’ve had my moments.”

"Plenty of ‘em," Logan said, his voice gruff but affectionate. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “We’ll be outta here soon. Just gotta get you patched up.”

There were deep claw marks that dragged across the right side of his stomach, you were shocked they didn’t have stitches or gauze over it. Your hand went to hover over the wounds, only barely starting to concentrate on reversing the wounds before Logan’s hand firmly closed over your wrist.

“Stop it,” Logan’s voice was firm but laced with a quiet concern, his hand tightening slightly around your wrist as if to emphasize the point. His eyes, sharp yet weary, bore into yours.

“Logan, you’re hurt—” you protested softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but Logan was already shaking his head.

“I said stop,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ain’t worth it. You know what it does to you.”

You frowned, glancing down at his wounds again, the jagged lines cutting across his stomach. “And leaving you like this is worth it? You’re bleeding, Logan. You need stitches, or—”

“Darlin’, I heal,” he interrupted, his hand moving to cup your face, his calloused thumb brushing gently along your cheek. “You don’t. Not like this. Every time you pull that trick, it damn near takes you out. Ain’t lettin’ that happen.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. It wasn’t just concern—it was fear, buried deep but unmistakable. He’d seen you push yourself too far before, and the memory of it still lingered, raw and unyielding.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of you. “Fine,” you muttered, reluctantly pulling your hand back. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”

Logan huffed a small, almost amused breath, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifted slightly in response. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

“Old man, huh?” Logan smirked, though the teasing was short-lived as he winced, his hand instinctively moving to his side.

“Exactly my point,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Now sit your stubborn ass down before you keel over.”

He gave you a pointed look but obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed with a low grunt. You grabbed a clean towel from the counter and a bottle of disinfectant, perching on the chair next to him. As you worked, dabbing carefully at the wounds, the tension in the room began to ease, replaced by the familiar rhythm of your banter.

“You remember the last time we ended up in a place like this?” you asked, glancing up at him.

Logan snorted. “Which time? There’s been a few.”

“The one in Brazil,” you said with a small grin. “You tried to fight the entire waiting room because they were taking too long.”

“They were taking too long,” Logan grumbled, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “And that guy was lookin’ at you funny.”

“He was ninety, Logan.”

“And?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you pressed the towel against his side. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you keep me around anyway,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, the playful edge giving way to something softer.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the chaos of the past few days—the exhaustion, the pain, the fear—faded into the background. All that mattered was the man sitting in front of you, his rough edges softened in the quiet of the moment.

“I keep you around because I’m not sure what I’d do without you,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the weight of the words.

Logan’s expression shifted, the usual gruffness giving way to something raw and unguarded. He reached out, his hand settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You’ll never have to find out.”

The warmth of his words settled over you like a blanket, grounding you in a way nothing else could. You stayed like that for a moment, your breaths mingling in the small space between you, the world outside forgotten.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence, and you both turned to see Laura standing there, her dark eyes watching you with an intensity that was equal parts curiosity and concern. She didn’t say anything—she never did—but the question in her gaze was clear.

“Hey, kid,” Logan said, his voice softer than usual as he straightened up slightly. “We’re good.”

Laura tilted her head, her eyes flicking between the two of you before landing on Logan’s side. She frowned, stepping into the room and holding up a roll of gauze she’d clearly swiped from somewhere.

“Resourceful,” you said with a small smile, taking the gauze from her. “Thanks, Laura.”

She didn’t respond, just crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, her gaze never leaving Logan as you wrapped the bandage around his torso.

“She’s got your stubbornness,” you muttered under your breath, earning a huff from Logan.

The girl’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture relaxed ever so slightly. You caught the subtle shift and smiled to yourself, finishing up the bandage before sitting back with a satisfied sigh.

“There. That should hold for now,” you said, meeting Logan’s gaze. “But you’re still taking it easy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat behind it. “Let’s just get outta here.”

You nodded, glancing at Laura. “Think you can lead the way, kid?”

She gave a small nod, already turning to head back toward the waiting room. Logan pushed himself to his feet with a wince, and you quickly stepped in to steady him, earning a muttered “I’m fine” that you ignored.

The three of you made your way out of the clinic, Laura leading the way to the station wagon. She opened the driver door, throwing something to the back of the car as she climbed into the passenger seat. You got into the backseat, laying down.

“You can’t just take shit, you know.” Logan said to Laura.

“Actually, I took it. Had to threaten a guy.” You spoke from the backseat.

Logan closed the driver door, muttering an “of course” before looking at Laura. “I don’t know how you got us here… but, uh, thank you.”

“De nada.” Laura said, as Logan put the keys in the ignition.

“Yeah.” Logan looked back at Laura, “you can talk?” Laura nodded, “you can talk? What the fuck? Why in the fuck… What’s all this bullshit been for the last 2,000 fucking miles?”

Laura began to yell in Spanish, “tu espera que hable con tu cuando no mirarme? Tu espera que hable con tu cuando me insultas y tratar de dejarme atrás!?”

Your eyes widened at her words, but of course, Logan didn’t understand them. He cut Laura off, yelling at her, “shut the fuck up!”

“Logan!” You scolded, sitting up, “she’s a little kid—”

Laura kept eye contact with Logan, reciting names. “Jonah, Gideon, Rebecca, Delilah, Rictor.”

“What? Who’s that?” Laura continued as Logan yelled again, “who is that?”

She opened her backpack, saying the names again, “Jonah, Gideon, Rebecca, Delilah, and Rictor.” She grabbed the envelope of money with the coordinates written on them. “North Dakota.”

“What?”

Laura pulled the envelope away, “North Dakota, por favor.”

“Shit, okay. Look—” Logan tried to grab the envelope.

“No. Por favor.”

Logan finally reached over and grabbed it from her hands. “This place. Okay? Your nurse, she read too many stories, you understand? Too many stories!” He coughed as Laura grabbed a comic book from her backpack, which Logan snatched. “I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it, okay? This all here… None of this… No existo, okay? You understand me? This Eden does not exist. No!”

“Si! Eden!”

“No! It’s a fantasy, kid. See that? Those are the names of the people who just made this… They made this whole thing up. Okay? This whole… It happened once, and they just turned it into a big, fucking lie!” Laura yelled in Spanish again, “no!”

You opened the car door, slowly getting out, leveling Logan with a look that brooked no argument. “Logan. Out. Now.”

Logan froze, his hand still clutching the comic book, his jaw tightening. “What are you doin’, sweetheart?” His voice was low, cautious.

“Get out of the car, kotik,” you repeated, your tone firm. “Now.”

Laura was glaring daggers at him from the passenger seat, her small frame somehow radiating enough fury to match his. Logan glanced at her, then back at you, clearly torn between his simmering frustration and the realization that you weren’t going to back down.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, opening the driver’s side door and stepping out, slamming it shut behind him. “This really necessary?” he grumbled.

You didn’t answer right away, walking a few paces away from the car until you were out of earshot from Laura. Logan followed, his boots crunching against the gravel. When you finally turned to face him, the irritation in your eyes was palpable.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, your voice quiet but edged with steel. “You yelling at her like that?”

“She started it,” Logan said, gesturing vaguely toward the car, his expression defensive. “You heard her, darlin’. She’s been sittin’ on this the whole damn time, not sayin’ a word. Now she wants to throw some fantasy story at me like it’s gospel?”

“She’s a kid, Logan,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “She’s scared. She’s trying to make sense of everything, just like the rest of us.”

Logan shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I get it, okay? But this ‘Eden’ bullshit—she’s pinning her hopes on somethin’ that ain’t real. It’s a waste of time.”

“And what if it’s not?” you countered, stepping closer to him. “What if it’s real, and we’re just too jaded to believe it? You’ve been so focused on surviving, you don’t even see it anymore.”

“See what?” Logan asked, his tone tinged with exasperation.

“Hope,” you said simply, your gaze softening. “Laura’s a kid, Logan. She needs that hope, even if it feels impossible. Hell, maybe we do, too.”

Logan sighed, the tension in his shoulders sagging slightly as he looked away. “You really think it’s worth chasin’ a pipe dream?”

“I think it’s worth giving her a chance to believe in something,” you said, your voice gentler now. “If it turns out to be real, great. If not… at least we tried.”

He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working as he mulled over your words. Finally, he looked back at you, his eyes tired but not entirely unyielding. “You really think I handled that wrong, huh?”

“Like a bull in a china shop,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the tension. “She’s not just some stray you picked up, Logan. She’s… she’s family now, whether you like it or not.”

“Family,” Logan echoed, the word heavy on his tongue. He let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s a dangerous word comin’ from us.”

“Maybe,” you said, stepping closer and resting a hand on his chest, just over his heart. “But it’s true. And you’re going to apologize to her.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly. “Apologize? To her?”

“Yes, to her,” you said firmly, your hand not moving. “Because if you don’t, I’m sleeping in the backseat and you’re not getting a single damn word out of me for the rest of the trip.”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the car. “Now, go make it right.”

Logan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “pushy,” but he turned and headed back to the car. You followed a few steps behind, watching as he opened the driver’s side door and leaned in.

“Hey, kid,” Logan said, his voice gruff but softer than before. Laura turned her head to glare at him, clearly still bristling from the earlier argument. Logan sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I… I shouldn’t have yelled. Alright? That was… not cool.”

Laura’s glare didn’t waver, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“I just…” Logan paused, clearly struggling with the words. “I’m not good at this stuff. But I’m tryin’. And if you believe in this Eden thing, then… I’ll give it a shot.”

Laura blinked, her expression shifting just slightly, the anger in her eyes softening into something more guarded. She didn’t say anything, but the way she settled back in her seat, arms uncrossing, spoke volumes.

You smiled faintly, leaning on the car door. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Logan shot you a look, but there was no real heat in it. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, and you slid into the back, leaning against the window as he started the engine.

As the car rumbled to life, Laura glanced at you in the rearview mirror. For the first time, there was a hint of something like gratitude in her eyes. You gave her a small nod, a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

The station wagon pulled out onto the road, the three of you settling into an uneasy but determined silence. For better or worse, you were in this together.

---

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the car, the exhaustion still weighing heavily on you. Logan’s head tilted to the side, dozing off for a second before Laura reached over and straightened the car.

“Hey.” Logan said, pushing Laura’s hand away from the steering wheel. She said something in Spanish and Logan let out a “huh?”

“Let me drive,” she spoke.

He scoffed, “absolutely not.” Logan continued driving, fighting the urge to pass out as he felt Laura’s gaze still on him. “Quit looking at me.” Laura spoke in Spanish again and he responded with, “no comprende.”

“You are dying. Charles told me.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“To not let you,” Laura responded.

Logan’s eyes fluttered closed slowly, and once his head tilted down to his chest, Laura grabbed the wheel again, turning the car to the side of the road.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The car came to a stop.

“Rest.” Laura said simply.

---

When Logan woke up his head was in your lap, fingers gently combing through his hair that for a split second he thought things were normal. That the two of you were back in the mansion late at night, keeping quiet to not wake up anyone else.

“Hey, there.” You whispered.

“Darlin’?” He coughed, looking around to see a handful of kids surrounding the two of you. “Where are we?”

“Safe.” You replied.

Logan looked at one of the kids holding a bottle of a small green serum, “hey, what is it? Where’d you get that?”

“Where we came from,” Rictor spoke. “They gave it to us when we would fight. It makes you stronger.”

“It makes you crazy is what it does. It’ll kill you.”

You spoke up, “they only gave you a little bit. Enough to help your wounds heal.”

Logan let out a grunt, “where’s Laura?”

“Asleep.” You started to comb your fingers through his hair again, “you need to get some more rest too.”

Logan shifted slightly in your lap, his head heavy against your thighs. “I’ve been restin’,” he grumbled, his voice rough and tired.

“Not enough,” you said, your thumb brushing along the line of his jaw. “You can barely stay on your feet, kotik.”

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a low grunt of acknowledgment, but still not fully conceding. “Can’t just lay around while all this shit’s goin’ down.”

“They need you alive,” you replied softly but firmly. “We’re safe for now, and you need to heal. It’s not gonna kill you to stop for a little while.”

Logan’s lips twitched in a half-smile, his eyes still closed. “You sure about that?” he muttered, though his body seemed to sink deeper against you, the tension slowly leaving his frame.

You gave a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “I’m pretty sure. Trust me for once, okay?”

Logan opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. There was something softer there now, a vulnerability he didn’t show often. “I always trust you, darlin’. Even when I shouldn’t.”

“Good thing I’m always right, then,” you teased gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. “Now get some more rest.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes still locked with yours. Then, with a sigh, he relented, his head settling more comfortably in your lap. “Yeah, alright. But just for a little while,” he mumbled, his voice already starting to fade as exhaustion pulled at him.

“Just for a little while,” you echoed softly, your fingers still moving through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

---

Logan woke up from a nightmare, this time you were behind him, arm around his waist and chest pressed to his back.

“Pesadillas.” She said in Spanish, before continuing in English, “you had a nightmare.”

Logan paused for a second, looking at the way she held onto the wooden pole of the bed in front of him. “Do you have nightmares?” he asked softly.

She nodded, “si.” Laura briefly looked down at the floor before looking back at him. “People hurt me.”

“Mine are different.” Logan replied, his voice still quiet.

“Por que?”

“I hurt people.”

Laura got off the bed and walked over to the side of his, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a shiny silver bullet. “What is this?” She asked him in Spanish.

Logan shifted over to his side and sat up on his elbow, grunting in pain. Your arm fell down behind him. “You know what it is.” He took it out of her hand, rolling it between his fingers. He held it still, “it’s made out of Adamantium. It’s what they put inside of us. That’s why it can kill us.” He paused for a moment.

“Probably what is killing me now. Anyway… I got this a long time ago… and I kept it as a reminder of what I am. Now I keep it to, uh…” He stopped, briefly closing his eyes as he shook his head, “actually, uh… I was thinking of shooting myself with it. But I can’t do that to her… not after everythin’.”

There was a moment of silence before Laura spoke, “I’ve hurt people, too.”

“You’re gonna have to learn how to live with that.” Logan moved back down onto the bed, rolling slowly onto his back with a groan.

“They were bad people.”

“All the same.” He replied, dozing back off to sleep. Laura looked at the bullet still in his hand before taking it and putting it back in her jacket.

---

Logan drifted in and out for two days. You had slept only for one day, finally regaining your strength after overexerting yourself.

But when Logan did wake up, the kids were around him giggling. Logan pushed himself up and stumbled over to the tiny mirror on the wall.

“Not funny. That is not funny!” He scolded.

You let out a small, barely audible chuckle. “It’s a little humorous.” It wasn’t exactly like how he used to shave, but it was pretty damn close.

“How long have I been out?”

"Two days," you said, sitting on the edge of the small cot Logan had been resting on. "They’re leaving tomorrow before dawn. They’re gonna cross the border to Canada."

Logan snorted as he rubbed his face, still groggy. "Canada," he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Logan."

"What?" He leaned heavily against the mirror, scowling at his reflection. "We both know it’s just a pipe dream."

"Maybe," you said, your tone calm but firm. "But those kids believe in it. It’s not about what’s real to you, kotik. It’s about what it means to them."

Logan turned to look at you, his scowl softening just slightly when he met your eyes. "You’re startin’ to sound like Chuck," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Good," you replied. "He had a way of cutting through your bullshit."

Logan let out a low chuckle, though it ended in a cough. He pressed a hand to his side and winced. You were on your feet in an instant, steadying him. "You’re still pushing yourself too hard."

"I’m fine," he grumbled, though he didn’t pull away from your touch. "These kids… they’re not ready for what’s out there. We both know that."

"Then help them," you said softly. "Show them how to survive."

Logan shook his head, his expression torn. "I don’t even know if I’ve got it in me anymore, darlin’. Every time I think about fightin’, it feels like… like it’s just pullin’ me closer to the end."

"You’ve been saying that for decades," you countered, your hand slipping down to take his. "And yet, here you are. Still standing. Still fighting. These kids need you, Logan. And so does Laura."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "You’re too damn good at this, y’know," he said, his voice gruff. "Talkin’ me into doin’ the right thing."

You smiled faintly. "Someone’s gotta keep you in line."

Logan gave a low chuckle, but his eyes drifted toward the window, where the faint sounds of the kids preparing for their journey echoed through the quiet night. "What happens if it’s all bullshit?" he asked quietly.

"Then we’ll figure it out," you said. "Like we always do."

Logan nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he seemed to make a decision. "Alright," he said finally. "I’ll help ‘em get to the border. But after that… it’s up to them."

"That’s all anyone can ask," you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Logan let out a breath, leaning his forehead against yours for a moment. "You’re a real pain in my ass, sweetheart."

"You love me for it," you teased, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

---

Daytime melted into nighttime again, the kids enjoying one last night around the campfire chatting, laughing. You sat with them, showing off your own mutation to some of the younger kids, briefly pausing the fire before letting it roar again.

Logan watched from inside the cabin, reminding him of when things were simpler. How you and Ororo would talk in Russian so no one else could understand what you were saying. How one time you and Rogue pied Scott in the face after he dropped the hot dogs into the fire.

Laura entered the cabin as he turned to look at her, “your friends, they seem nice,” he admitted. “Kind of reminds me…”

Laura put something into her backpack, then she walked past him to go out by the fire. He grabbed her arm, stopping her and pulling her closer. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? Huh?” She ignored him, yanking her arm free from his grasp. “You’re with your pals. You made it.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

Logan considers the question for a moment, “nearest bar, for starters.” Laura absorbs his answer before turning back around, making her way to the exit. “Hey, I got you here. That’s all I signed up for. I even gave back the money.

She turned to face him, “such a nice man.” Laura said sarcastically.

“Hey, I never asked for this!” Logan started, his voice raising, “all right? Charles never asked for this. Caliban never asked for this. And they are six feet under the ground! Now, I don’t know what Charles put in your head, but I am not whatever it is you think I am, okay? I only met you, like, a week ago. You got your Rebecca, your Delilah, your blah, blah, blah, whatever. Everything you asked for, you’ve got it!”

Laura continued to look at him, a slight look of hurt across her face. He continued, “and it is better this way. Because I suck at this. Bad shit happens to people I care about. You understand me?”

She met his eyes, “then I’ll be fine.” Laura walked outside as Logan watched her exit.

---

Logan woke up to the sun streaming in through the small cabin. You were asleep behind him, hand lightly wrapped around his bicep. It was quiet, the kids and Laura were all gone.

On the table next to the bed was the green serum, and next to it a note, “not all at once. Rictor.” He walked outside to look out at rocky hills, the car still parked in the same spot it was when they got here.

Drones buzzed above him, making him look up. Logan climbed the stairs of the watch tower before limping to the binoculars. He saw military grade trucks driving through the forest, presumably following the kids.

Logan’s heart thudded as the trucks rolled through the forest, their engines a low growl against the quiet morning air.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, the sight twisting his gut into knots.

He turned and stomped back down the stairs, his limp more pronounced than usual. The pain in his legs flared, sharp and insistent, but he pushed it down. There wasn’t time for that.

Inside the cabin, you stirred as he walked in, your voice groggy but warm. “What’s all the stomping about, kotik?”

Logan grabbed the serum off the table and shoved it into his pocket. “Trouble,” he grunted, heading straight for the bag he’d left by the door.

You sat up, your brows furrowing. “Logan.”

He didn’t stop moving.

“Logan,” you said more firmly, your voice snapping him to a halt. “What kind of trouble?”

He turned to face you, his jaw tight. “The kind that’s gonna put a lot of those kids six feet under if I don’t get my ass moving.”

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, pulling on your boots as you spoke. “Then let’s go.”

“No,” he barked, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “You’re staying here.”

You froze mid-motion, your eyes locking onto his. “Like hell I am.”

“Darlin’—”

“Don’t start,” you cut him off, standing and stepping into his path. “You think I’m just gonna sit here while you throw yourself into God knows what?”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his frustration simmering. “I don’t have time to argue with you.”

“Good,” you shot back, grabbing your jacket and sliding it on. “Because I’m not arguing. I’m coming.”

Logan shook his head, his voice low and tight. “This isn’t your fight.”

You stepped closer, your voice softening but no less firm. “Logan, when have I ever let you fight alone?”

He stared at you, his chest heaving with the weight of his unspoken fears.

“I’m not leaving you to handle this on your own,” you continued, your eyes searching his. “We do this together. That’s the deal.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he muttered, “Fine. But you stay behind me. No heroics.”

You smirked faintly, your fingers brushing over his arm. “Wouldn’t dream of it, kotik.”

Logan let out a low grunt of frustration, grabbing his gear. “You ready?”

“Always,” you replied, grabbing your knives from the table and tucking them into your belt.

The two of you stepped outside, the morning air crisp and heavy with tension.

---

Logan’s breathing was ragged as he leaned heavily against the tree. You kept a hand on his shoulder, your expression torn between worry and focus. You knew he was struggling—his healing wasn’t what it used to be—but they didn’t have time to dwell on that now.

“I’m gonna find Rice,” You said quietly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I’ll stay on his trail. You focus on the kids.”

Logan nodded, his face grim. “You sure you can handle Rice on your own?”

“I’ve got this,” you said firmly, taking a deep breath before stepping away.

Logan straightened, clearly in pain but too stubborn to acknowledge it. “Be careful, Y/N.”

“I will,” you replied, already starting to move deeper into the forest.

You moved swiftly through the dense forest, the distant sounds of engines and shouts growing louder with each step. Your grip on your knife tightened, and your breath came steady despite the rush of adrenaline. Years of training kicked in, each movement calculated and silent.

Ahead, you spotted a group of men. They were clustered together, clearly guarding something—or someone. Rice had to be close. You pressed yourself against a tree, observing their movements, counting their weapons.

Slipping between the trees, you crept closer. The element of surprise was always your greatest advantage. In a swift motion, you stepped behind the nearest man, your blade slicing cleanly through the strap of his rifle before you took him down with a sharp elbow to the temple. He crumpled without a sound.

Before you could move on to the next, another guard turned, catching sight of you. “Over here!” he shouted, raising his weapon.

“Damn it,” you muttered, darting into the shadows as gunfire erupted. You took cover behind a fallen log, calculating your next move.

One by one, you picked them off, your movements fluid and precise. But as you turned to face the last of them, a sharp sting hit your neck. You reached up, pulling out a dart, the world already starting to tilt.

A sedative. Not enough to knock you out, but enough to slow you down. Your grip on the knife loosened as your knees buckled.

“Got her!” one of the men shouted, rushing toward you. You swung at him, catching him across the cheek, but your strength was fading fast.

“You’re a feisty one,” another voice drawled. Rice stepped out from the shadows, a smug grin on his face. “But even you can’t fight forever.”

Your vision blurred as they grabbed you, binding your wrists. You fought to stay upright, your head lolling to the side. “You... have no idea... who you’re dealing with,” you slurred, your voice defiant despite your state.

“Oh, I think I do,” Rice replied, stepping closer. “You’re the one he’s been running with, aren’t you? Always knew Wolverine had a soft spot. Let’s see how far that gets him.”

You snarled, trying to jerk away, but the sedative made your limbs uncooperative. They dragged you toward their truck, your heart pounding not from fear but from frustration. You weren’t scared. You knew Logan would come. He always did.

---

Donald held Rictor at gunpoint, slowly walking into the grass. “Nine o’clock.” A soldier by the children shouted, pointing their guns at Logan.

“That green juice is wearin’ off, huh? You know, for an old mute, it’s kind of a short high.” Donald said, as Rictor kneeled in the grass, Donald’s grip tight on the back of his neck. “Be hard to keep them claws out, soon.”

“Waste this dick, Logan!” Donald knocked Rictor unconscious with the butt of his gun, keeping the muzzle pointed at his head.

Rice walks forward from behind Donald, one of the military men dragging you beside him. “Please stop, Mr. Howlett. I’m gonna have to tell these men to fire on these children and your wife. You don’t want that. You can see the effects of the serum are wearing off. You will not survive further wounds. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Zander Rice. I believe you knew my father on the Weapon X Program.”

Logan’s look grew darker as he held up his bloody claws, “yeah. He’s the asshole who put this poison in me.”

Rice nodded, “yes, he was one of them.”

“I think I might have killed him.”

“I think you’re right.”

Donald spoke up, “why don’t you show some respect, mutie? You’re lookin’ at the man who wiped out your kind.”

“My friend Donald overstates.” Rice said. “He makes it sound more brutal than intended. The goal was not to end mutant kind… but to control it. I realized we needn’t stop perfecting what we eat and drink. That we could use those products to perfect ourselves. To distribute gene therapy discreetly through everything from sweet drinks to breakfast cereals. And it worked. Random mutancy went the way of polio. We embarked on our next endeavor.”

“Growing mutants of your own.” Logan growled out, his breathing still choppy.

“Precisely.” Rice responded.

“Dangerous times, James. You can’t- ”

Logan shot his gun at Donald, hitting his bionic arm. You acted quickly, kicking down the man’s legs while grabbing a dagger from your thigh holster, stabbing him in the gut before doing a kip-up to stab Rice directly in the throat. As you pulled your dagger out, Rice fell to the ground, dead.

You glanced over at Logan, who was still fighting against the effects of the serum, his movements becoming increasingly labored.

The soldiers around them were momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in power. Laura, who was waiting for Logan’s signal, started to attack the soldiers who stood by her friends.

Donald quickly got up and walked to one of the vans, opening the back door. “Showtime, boy!”

The clone of Logan jumped out of the back, tackling him to the ground. You ran over to the group of kids, hurriedly taking off the large metal handcuffs. Once you were finished, you watched as Logan was thrown into one of the van’s heavily armored doors, knocking it off.

The clone tried to jump on him but Logan used the door as a shield, pushing the clone to the ground. The clone tried to get up but Logan hit him with the door again, before pushing the door down against the clone’s neck.

“Get up, boy. Get up, boy!” Donald called out. The clone looked behind him at the dead body of Rice, “they did that. Get up!”

The clone slashed the bottom of the door with his claws before kicking Logan away, who landed next to Laura. The young girl screamed before running to the clone, jumping onto his back.

“Laura! No!” Rictor yelled.

Rictor’s shout barely reached your ears as everything moved in a blur of violence and chaos. Laura was already on the clone, her small body attacking with the same viciousness as Logan, her claws slashing at his back, her teeth bared in fury.

“Laura!” You called out, but it was too late. The girl was locked into the fight now, claws sinking into flesh. The clone grunted, his expression a twisted mix of pain and rage. He threw Laura off with a brutal force that sent her flying into a nearby tree.

You looked at the young kids and at Donald, still by the van. “You want revenge? Go get it.” You said, as the kids nodded and walked over to the man—their former captor.

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Their eyes were filled with a combination of fear, anger, and a desire for revenge. One by one, they stepped toward Donald, who was still on his feet, though his bionic arm was sparking from Logan’s earlier shot. He raised his remaining good hand, trying to shield himself as the children advanced.

“Wait—wait, listen—” Donald stammered, but the children weren’t interested in his pleas.

With a primal scream, the first child reached out, his hands glowing with energy, and sent a shockwave directly at Donald, slamming him back against the van. The others followed, each unleashing their own abilities—one sent vines up from the ground to entangle him, while another froze the air around him, leaving frost on his skin.

Logan and Laura were both on the ground, the clone limping away as Rictor lifted the control van into the air before dropping it onto the clone.

“Go.” Logan heaved out before coughing. “Let’s go. Go.” He continued to tell Laura. Laura started to walk to the other children, Logan behind her gently guiding her. “Go, go, go! Go! Get out of here! Go!”

A metallic creak came from the control van, the clone underneath pushing it off of him. “Go. Go, go, go!” Logan continued ordering the kids, turning around momentarily to look in the direction of the van, seeing his clone run over. “Go, go!”

Before the clone could claw Logan again, you shoved him out of the way, throwing him to the ground as the clone’s claws tore through your shoulder. You gasped, the searing pain ripping through your body, but you bit it back, locking eyes with Logan.

“Logan, move!” you shouted, pushing him away as the clone yanked his claws free, sending blood spraying onto the grass. The clone let out a guttural growl, his feral eyes narrowing on you. His claws glistened, dripping crimson as he lunged again.

Logan scrambled to his feet, his breathing ragged, the strain evident in every movement. “Darlin’, don’t—”

The clone spun, his massive frame colliding with Logan. He roared as he grabbed him, his claws plunging into Logan’s torso before he lifted him off the ground.

“Logan!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you struggled to get up. Blood poured from your wound, but you forced yourself forward, adrenaline propelling you.

The clone hauled Logan onto the jagged stump of a fallen tree. The wood speared through Logan’s body with a sickening crunch, and he let out a choked cry of pain. Blood bubbled at his lips as the clone twisted his claws deeper, stabbing him again.

“Logan!” you cried out, your heart twisting at the sight of him impaled, struggling.

The clone raised his arm for another strike, his claws gleaming, but before he could bring it down, a gunshot rang out. The clone’s head snapped back violently, and a fine mist of blood sprayed into the air as the bullet struck him square between the eyes. His body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

Your head whipped toward the source of the shot. Laura stood there, clutching the fallen gun, her small chest heaving with adrenaline. The smoking barrel glinted in the sunlight. She dropped the gun immediately, her expression shattering as she rushed toward Logan.

“No, no, no,” she mumbled, her voice shaking as she reached him. Her hands trembled as she began hacking at the jagged stump with her claws, splintering the wood with every furious strike.

You stumbled over, the pain in your shoulder nearly blinding, but nothing mattered except getting to Logan. Dropping to your knees beside him, you cupped his bloodied face in your hands. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and his breaths came in ragged gasps.

“Kotik, stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you pressed your forehead to his. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, a faint, pained attempt at a smirk. “Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Guess… I’m finally... gonna get some rest.”

“Shut up,” you choked out, tears blurring your vision. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re not.”

Laura let out a frustrated scream as she finally splintered enough of the stump to free Logan. He slid off the wood with a groan, collapsing into your arms. His weight was heavy, his strength all but gone, but you held him tightly, your fingers curling into his bloodied shirt.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re okay.”

Laura crouched beside you, her face streaked with tears. “He’s not okay,” she sobbed, her small hands clutching his arm. “He’s not.”

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, barely. He looked at Laura, then at you, his gaze softening despite the pain. “You two…” he breathed, his voice weak but steady. “You’re my girls.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you said firmly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “We’re getting you out of here. We’re gonna fix this.”

“Take them, and run.” He said hoarsely.

Laura shook her head, “no.”

“Run. They’ll keep coming and coming. Listen, you don’t have to fight anymore.” Laura found Logan’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Go, go.” Laura’s tears fell down in a steady stream. “Don’t be what they made you.” Logan whispered. He continued, “Laura… Laura…”

"Daddy," Laura whispered, her voice barely audible as tears streamed down her face. Her small hand gripped Logan's tightly, as if trying to keep him anchored to life.

Logan’s eyes flickered to her, the faintest smile pulling at his cracked lips.

“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, your voice cracking as you leaned closer to him. “Don’t talk like this, kotik. You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get you somewhere safe, patch you up. You’ve been through worse.”

His gaze shifted to you, soft despite the agony written all over his face. “Darlin’… you know better.”

“No!” Your voice rose as tears burned hot trails down your cheeks. You cupped his face again, leaning down so your forehead pressed against his. “No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to leave us.”

Laura’s sobs grew louder as she clung to his arm, her claws retracting as if she couldn’t bear to see them anymore. “We need you,” she choked out. “I need you.”

Logan chuckled softly, a faint, pained sound that broke what was left of your composure. “Nah… you don’t, kid. You’re strong. Stronger than me, stronger than… anyone.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t let this be it, Logan.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand brushing your cheek. “You’ve always been stubborn,” he murmured. “That’s why I love you.”

“Then fight,” you pleaded. “Fight for us. For her. For me.”

His eyes opened again, and for a moment, it was like he saw everything—every lifetime, every moment you’d ever shared, every tragedy and every fleeting happiness. “I have, darlin’… I fought long enough.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice breaking into a sob. “No, Logan, please—”

“I’ll… always find you,” he whispered, his words halting and labored. His gaze moved to Laura one last time. “Don’t… let them make you… what they made me.”

Laura let out a broken cry, clutching his hand tighter as his body slackened against you. “Daddy,” she whispered again, shaking her head in denial. “No, no, no!”

“Logan!” you screamed, gripping his face, trying to shake him awake. But his body was still, his head tilting slightly to the side. The faint, pained smirk on his lips remained as the last breath left his body.

“No!” Laura screamed, pounding her small fists into the dirt beside him. “No, no, no!”

Your hands shook as you held his face, your forehead resting against his as sobs racked your body. He was gone. The realization was like a knife twisting in your chest, carving out a piece of your soul.

Laura crawled closer, pressing herself into Logan’s side as her sobs filled the air. You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close even as your own tears refused to stop. The two of you clung to him, unwilling to let go, unwilling to believe he was truly gone.

In the distance, the wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the echoes of your grief.

i'm so sorry😭i totally didn't cry while writing the ending...

anyways, there is a part 2 to this which is 'deadpool and wolverine' so thank you ryan reynolds for giving us a canon why to fix things and give our characters a happy ending😊

i'm not sure when the part 2 is going to be done, so it might be a while

[celebtf]

Wow, you replaced Justin Bieber, Shawn Mendes and Alex Sampson - great! But what's about athletes like Nico Hischier? He's a star in the NHL and the no. 1 draft from 2017. Any chance to read something about him?

THE NHL SECRET

The locker room was silent, save for the faint hum of the flickering fluorescent lights. Adam Keefe sat slouched in a chair across from his brother Sheldon, his face a twisted mask of frustration.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Adam growled, his voice thick with bitterness. “Sitting on the sidelines, watching other men live the life I was meant for. I’m nothing now. A washed-up coach in Belfast.”

Sheldon’s lips curled into a slow, malevolent smile. “You’re more than that, Adam,” he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You’re my brother. And I don’t leave my family behind.”

Adam looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What are you saying?”

Sheldon leaned forward, his face inches from Adam’s. “I can give you your life back. Youth. Strength. Everything you’ve lost. But it comes at a price.”

Adam hesitated. “What kind of price?”

Sheldon’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than before. “We’ll need someone to take your place. Someone who’ll disappear without anyone suspecting a thing.”

Adam stared at him, suspicion flickering in his eyes. But Sheldon’s gaze was unwavering, cold, and calculating.

“Who?” Adam asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Sheldon leaned back, his smile turning into a smirk. “I’ve got someone in mind.”

Nico Hischier was dragging himself to his locker after practice, his body screaming in protest. Coach Keefe had worked him harder than ever, pushing him to the brink.

“Captain,” Sheldon’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Locker room. Now.”

Nico frowned but obeyed, trudging into the dimly lit room. A single chair sat in the center, the overhead light casting an eerie glow.

“What’s this about, Coach?” Nico asked, his voice tinged with unease.

Sheldon didn’t answer. Instead, the door slammed shut behind him, and the lights snapped off.

Nico felt hands grab him, rough and unrelenting. He thrashed, but he was no match for the strength holding him down. His wrists and ankles were bound to the chair, and a filthy sock was shoved into his mouth, muffling his cries.

The lights flickered back on, revealing Sheldon standing beside another man—Adam Keefe.

Sheldon stepped forward, his shadow looming over Nico. “You’ve been such a good captain, Nico,” he said, his tone mocking. “But every leader has to make sacrifices.”

Nico’s eyes widened in terror, his muffled screams filling the room. Sheldon grabbed his face roughly, forcing Nico to look at him.

“Do you know how long I’ve been planning this?” Sheldon hissed, his voice dripping with malice. “You’ve got everything—youth, strength, skill. You don’t deserve it.”

Adam chuckled darkly. “And I do.”

Sheldon released Nico and turned to Adam. “Put on his gear. It’s time.”

Adam hesitated for a moment, then began stripping Nico’s equipment piece by piece. Nico squirmed and thrashed, but the ropes held firm. Sheldon watched with a gleeful smirk as Adam pulled on the gear, each piece fitting him perfectly.

Then the chanting began.

The words were harsh and guttural, slicing through the air like knives. The temperature in the room plummeted, and a dark energy seemed to envelop them.

Adam’s body began to change. His muscles bulged, veins throbbing beneath his skin as his frame expanded. His shoulders widened, his posture straightened, and his skin took on a youthful glow. His face contorted, reshaping itself into Nico’s. His hair darkened, growing out to match Nico’s perfectly.

Adam groaned, his voice deepening and shifting until it was identical to Nico’s. When the transformation was complete, he stood before the real Nico—a flawless copy.

Adam-Nico turned to the mirror, his lips curling into a wicked smile. He flexed his arms, admiring the raw power coursing through his new body.

“This... this is incredible,” Adam-Nico said, running his hands over his chest and arms. He turned back to Nico, who was trembling in the chair.

“How does it feel?” Adam-Nico taunted, stepping closer. “To see someone better living your life?”

Sheldon laughed, clapping his brother on the back. “Go on, Captain. Rest up. Big game tomorrow.”

Adam-Nico grabbed his bag and strode out, his laughter echoing in the hall.

Sheldon turned back to Nico, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he sneered.

Nico’s muffled screams intensified as Sheldon began chanting again, his voice lower, more menacing. The air in the room seemed to vibrate with dark energy.

Nico’s body convulsed, his muscles withering and shrinking. His skin sagged, wrinkles carving deep lines into his face. His hair turned gray, then white, before thinning to nearly nothing. His hands trembled as they aged, veins standing out like brittle roots.

The pain was excruciating, his body burning as it transformed into someone decades older—someone he didn’t recognize.

By the time Sheldon finished, Nico was no longer Nico. He was Adam Keefe.

The new Adam looked down at his gnarled hands, his voice a hoarse whisper. “What... what did you do to me?”

Sheldon crouched in front of him, his grin predatory. “You’re nothing now. Just an old has-been.”

The door swung open, and Adam-Nico strolled back in, smirking. “Forgot my jock,” he said, then froze, his gaze landing on the new Adam.

“Well, well,” Adam-Nico said, his tone mocking. “Looks like the mighty captain’s fallen.”

The brothers laughed, their cruelty palpable.

“You’ll get used to it,” Sheldon said coldly. “Or not. We don’t really care.”

The two grabbed the real Nico—now Adam—and dragged him out.

As they threw him into the car, Sheldon whispered, “You were never going to win. This was always our game.”

The brothers’ laughter echoed as they drove off, leaving Nico broken and defeated.

The brothers had won, reveling in their twisted triumph.

And Nico? He had lost everything.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/BTR Book 2: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 6: I can’t lose.. when I’m with you..

Flashback January 15th, 2025 12:16 PM

Rhea cleared her throat, the air thick with tension as she broke Jey’s eye contact. Jey, sensing her discomfort, gently lifted her chin, urging her to meet his gaze again. “It’s okay,” he reassured her softly.

Taking another deep breath, Rhea began to recount her past, her voice trembling slightly. “It was 2017. I had just turned 21. I was at a bar with Tegan and Liv after practice. We decided to unwind for a bit. He was bartending at the bar up from the Performance Center. He was… older than me. I thought he was cute, and he thought I was too.” Rhea’s voice was distant as she recalled the initial thrill of attraction, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

“Every night after that, I’d go to the bar. I wouldn’t even drink; I’d just sit there, talking to him.” She hesitated, glancing away as memories washed over her. Jey nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We went out on a few dates, and eventually, we started dating.” Rhea’s smile faded as she remembered the honeymoon phase turning sour. “But then… I got drunk one time and made a stupid pass at his brother. That same night, he beat the fuck out of me.” Her words were quiet but filled with a heavy weight.

Jey’s heart sank at the confession, and he instinctively clenched his fists, his protective instincts flaring. “Why didn’t you leave him?” he asked gently, desperate to understand her mindset.

Rhea’s gaze dropped to her lap, and she swallowed hard. “It was my fault,” she murmured, a familiar shame creeping into her voice. Jey felt a surge of anger—not at her, but at the circumstances that had led her to believe that.

“Go on,” he urged, wanting her to feel safe to share everything.

Rhea took a moment, collecting her thoughts. “After a while, Tegan and Liv got tired of telling me to leave him. They stopped asking how I was doing.” She paused, the memories weighing heavily on her heart. “One night… after everything, he pushed me to my limit.”

“How?” Jey pressed, his voice a mixture of concern and disbelief.

Rhea swallowed again, her fingers trembling as she looked down. “I woke up one morning.. sore and in bed with three different guys. My panties were off. There was … it.. it was in me… I-“ Her voice broke, and tears pooled in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks.

Overwhelmed by the rawness of her pain, Rhea stood up abruptly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Fuck! Why do you have to make me relive this shit?” she yelled, her emotions boiling over.

“Hey!” Jey said, his voice firm but gentle. “Stop. It’s okay.” He rose to his feet, stepping closer to her, trying to bridge the gap that had formed. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Rhea felt a rush of conflicting emotions—anger, sadness, and the flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, she could finally let someone in. But the weight of her past still loomed large, and she wasn’t sure if she could fully trust again. Jey’s unwavering presence, however, began to melt away some of the barriers she had built around herself.

“Just breathe,” he said softly, reaching out to wipe away her tears with his thumb. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

As she looked into his eyes, she saw sincerity and compassion, and for the first time in a long time, Rhea felt the glimmer of hope that she might find a way to heal.

Rhea sat back down, the weight of her past still heavy on her shoulders. Jey instinctively rubbed her back, his touch gentle and reassuring. After a moment of silence, Rhea managed to collect herself enough to continue her story.

“I confronted him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And he hit me. He just… he kept hitting me.” The memories rushed back, vivid and painful. “He pulled me by my hair and said I was going to keep doing what he needed me to do, so I…”

Jey leaned in closer, his heart racing as he sensed her hesitation. “Rhea, you can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m right here,” he urged gently, his eyes locked onto hers, willing her to open up.

But Rhea stayed silent, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands. The fear of reliving that moment held her captive, and despite Jey’s comforting presence, the past clawed at her.

She took a deep breath, the air thick with unspoken words, and finally whispered, “So I… saw his knife on the TV stand and I quickly grabbed it and stabbed him in the neck. The Terrible Awful happened. ”

Jey was stunned at what Rhea had just revealed. The weight of her words hung heavily between them as she referred to the horrific experience as “the terrible awful.” He struggled to find his voice, his heart aching for her. “What did the cops say?” he asked, desperate to understand the full extent of her ordeal.

Rhea swallowed hard. “It was ruled self-defense,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “One of the guys called 911 when everything was happening.” The realization of how close she had come to losing everything settled like a stone in Jey’s stomach.

Overwhelmed by the information, Jey leaned back in his chair, trying to process it all. “So, I take it Demetri is where he’s supposed to be?” he asked cautiously.

Rhea nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Chapel Hill Cemetery, Space 827.”

“And what about Matt?” Jey pressed, feeling the need to know more about the man who had been a part of her life after the nightmare.

Rhea sighed, her expression shifting to one of deep contemplation. “We met two months after the attack,” she admitted, her tone heavy with emotion.

Jey paused, searching her face for any signs of lingering pain. “Rhea, did you truly process everything?” he asked, genuinely concerned for her well-being.

She sighed again, the weight of her past pressing down on her. “Matt was my escape… just like you.”

Jey stopped short, the word “escape” reverberating in his mind. It was a word that felt loaded with implications, and he felt a chill run through him. The thought of being someone’s escape was both a privilege and a burden.

“Escape,” Jey repeated softly, looking into Rhea’s eyes. “Rhea, I want to be here for you. But I need to know… do you see me as a way to run from your past, or as someone who can help you heal?”

Rhea opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her features. She was caught between her past experiences and the present warmth she felt with Jey. The tension in the room grew stronger as Jey waited for her answer, his heart racing, fearing what she might say next.

The tension between them was thickening the air in the room as they stood in silence. Jey’s gaze was intense, unwavering, his voice low but firm as he asked her once more, the question heavy with a sense of finality.

“Rhea… really think about it. Am I just your escape?”

Rhea swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to reach for him, to close the gap that suddenly felt miles wide, but he took a small step back, leaving her hand suspended in the air. His movement felt like a stab to her heart, a rejection of her touch that only heightened the ache building within her.

“What we have… it’s real,” she said, her voice soft, pleading almost. But the words felt fragile, like they could shatter under the weight of everything unsaid between them.

Jey’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn’t speak right away, giving her a moment to let her words sink in. But he wasn’t letting this go. He pointed to the framed photo by the wall, the one of them with Jeyce and Jaciyah, the photo that represented the life they were building together, the family they had become. It was ready to be packed and taken to their new home in Connecticut, a tangible symbol of the future they were trying to create.

“This… what you say right now affects all of us. Our family,” he emphasized, the words carrying a weight that was almost suffocating. He then pointed gently to her belly, his gaze softening just slightly. “And our child… is in there. Whatever you say… it affects everything, Rhea. Right now.”

Rhea’s breath hitched, her heart rate picking up as the pressure of his words settled on her. She could feel the walls closing in, the intensity of his gaze demanding an answer, an honesty that went beyond any fleeting comfort or convenience.

“Rhea,” he said, his voice softer but no less intense, “Am I just your escape?”

Rhea felt a surge of frustration, the words bubbling up before she could contain them. “Who am I with, huh?” she challenged, her voice growing louder, more desperate. “Who the fuck am I standing here with? Huh? Who the fuck am I pregnant by? Who the fuck is feeding my animals every morning, huh?” Her voice was breaking, each question spilling out like a dam bursting. “Who is pushing me to be stronger?!”

She pushed him, the force of her emotions behind it, as she demanded, “Who the fuck is here with me right fucking now?!”

Jey took a step back, his own anger simmering beneath the surface, his voice rising to meet hers. “So that’s it, huh? I was just your fix all along?”

Rhea rolled her eyes, her frustration boiling over. “Oh, really? That’s where you wanna go with this, Jey?”

“Yeah,” he shot back, his voice harsh and accusatory, “I’m going there, Rhea. Your fix? Like I was just some damn drug to you?”

Rhea’s eyes flashed with anger, her fists clenched tightly. “Yes, my fucking fix, Jey! Because that’s what we were doing, right? Night after night, every damn night. And who was the genius who never used a condom, huh? It sure as hell wasn’t me!”

Jey scoffed, rolling his eyes as the frustration boiled over. “Oh, so now you’re throwing that back at me? Ms. ‘I’ll just take a Plan B in the morning’!”

Their voices echoed in the room, the argument spiraling into a place neither of them intended, raw emotions spilling out like wounds reopened and left untreated.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, and yet here they were, standing at the edge, unsure of where this confrontation would leave them.

Rhea’s voice rang out, defiant and sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife. “Who was the one who said it was more than what it was supposed to be?”

Jey’s eyes flashed with an intensity that mirrored her own. The argument had escalated to heights they had never reached before, and yet neither was willing to back down. “Well, who was the one that showed up at my fucking hotel room in some lingerie?” he shot back, his tone laced with anger, each word dripping with the weight of betrayal.

Rhea froze, her breath hitching. “Fuck off,” she spat, turning away, but Jey wasn’t letting her slip away that easily.

“That’s what you do, Rhea! As soon as anyone starts saying shit you don’t like, you fucking run!” His voice was a harsh growl, filled with the frustration that had been building between them.

She halted just in front of the door to their bedroom, pivoting on her heel. “I don’t fucking run!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls, resonating with her pain.

Jey laughed, but it was a bitter sound, one that held no humor. “What the fuck are you doing now, huh?!”

Rhea’s anger ignited again, and in a moment of rage, she tried to push him again. But Jey caught her wrists, holding her firmly, their faces inches apart. “Who was the first one to say ‘I love you’?” he yelled, his voice rising, filled with raw emotion. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t fucking me!”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, all the air was sucked out of the room. Rhea stopped, her defenses crumbling as she faced him, vulnerability washing over her. “Joshua,” she began, but the words caught in her throat, tears pooling in her eyes.

Jey’s expression softened as he saw the anguish on her face. His grip on her loosened, and he stepped back, the realization of his own anger washing over him like a cold wave. “Rhea…”

But it was too late. She broke, the tears spilling over as she cried out in anguish, the sound raw and heartbreaking. “You don’t get it!” she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest as she buried her face there, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

Jey felt the world tilt as her pain crashed into him, overwhelming and heavy. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her tremors against him, and held her tight. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, each syllable laced with a profound sense of regret.

Rhea’s cries echoed in the small space, an aching testament to all the hurt she had been carrying alone. Jey felt his heart clench, realizing just how deeply she had suffered. He stroked her hair gently, desperate to comfort her, to show her that he was there, right there, in the mess of it all.

“I love you, Rhea,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, a vow he had meant to reinforce through the storm.

She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for the truth. “But what about all the stuff you said?” Her voice trembled, the weight of his words crashing down on her like a wave.

“Fuck that,” Jey replied, a fierce determination igniting in him. “I love you. I’m with you. I’m here with you. I got you pregnant, and I’m going to be your husband. You’re going to be my wife. Fuck all the bullshit. You’re mine.”

His words wrapped around her like a lifeline, pulling her back from the brink of despair. The intensity of his promise, the heat of his love, pierced through her fear.

Rhea’s heart raced, the warmth of his declarations igniting something deep within her. “I don’t want to lose you, Jey,” she whispered, her voice breaking, vulnerability spilling from her like an open wound.

“You won’t,” he vowed, his hands framing her face, thumb brushing away the tears. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, Rhea. No matter what.”

In that moment, with the chaotic noise of their argument fading into the background, Rhea felt the walls around her heart begin to crumble. The pain and the anger that had consumed her were still there, but beneath it all lay the undeniable truth of their love—a force that was unbreakable, fierce, and raw.

“You’re right,” she breathed, a fragile smile breaking through the tears that still clung to her cheeks. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Jey’s relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he pulled her close again, wrapping her in his embrace. As they stood there, heart to heart, the weight of their shared past began to lift, leaving only the warmth of their love—a love that was scarred but resilient, a bond forged in fire, stronger than ever.

Rhea’s eyes were closed as she savored the moment of peace and serenity that had been absent. The tension that had built up between them due to their heated argument was horrible and it was something they needed to break away from.

Jey gently broke their embrace, his hands tenderly caressing Rhea's arms as he pulled away. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss that made her heart flutter with excitement. She could feel his desire for her as his tongue explored her mouth, and she eagerly responded, her own tongue dancing with his.

Jey pulled back, his eyes gleaming with lust as he looked at Rhea. He reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head and tossing it aside. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He leaned in, pressing his lips against her neck, tracing a path down to her collarbone with his tongue.

Rhea moaned softly, her body trembling with desire as Jey's lips made their way down to her breasts. He took one pierced nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand teased the other. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his mouth as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Jey's hand made its way down Rhea's body, slipping beneath the waistband of her pants. His fingers found her clit, rubbing gently in slow circles as she moaned with pleasure. He slipped a finger inside her, feeling her wetness coat his fingers as he explored her depths.

Rhea's breathing became ragged as Jey's fingers worked their magic. She could feel her orgasm building, her body trembling with pleasure as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. She reached for him, her fingers finding his cock through his pants. She stroked him gently, feeling him grow harder in her hand.

Jey pulled away from Rhea, his eyes dark with desire as he stood up. He undressed slowly, his eyes never leaving Rhea's as she watched him. She pushed her pants and underwear down and she licked her lips as she took in the sight of his naked body, her eyes lingering on his cock as it twitched with desire.

Jey climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between Rhea's legs. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a deep, passionate kiss as he entered her slowly. She moaned with pleasure, her body trembling with desire as he filled her completely.

“Make love to me Joshua..” She pleaded.

Jey began to move, his hips thrusting gently as he made love to Rhea. His eyes never left hers, and she could see the raw emotion in his gaze. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her as she met his thrusts with her own.

“Please don’t stop..” She begged as she let out a moan as he hit her G spot.

“I don’t want to..” he admitted.

The room was filled with the sound of their moans and heavy breathing as they moved together in perfect harmony. Jey's thrusts became faster and harder, his body slapping against Rhea's as he drove deeper inside her. She could feel her orgasm building, her body trembling with pleasure as she reached for the edge.

Jey's thrusts became erratic as he felt Rhea's muscles clench around his cock. He groaned with pleasure, his body trembling as he filled her completely. Rhea moaned with pleasure, her body trembling with the force of her orgasm as Jey collapsed on top of her.

They lay there, their bodies entwined as they caught their breath. Jey leaned in, pressing his lips against Rhea's in a gentle kiss. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with love and affection.

"I love you," Jey whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

"I love you too," Rhea replied, her voice filled with certainty that Jey was not her escape or fix, he was her fiancé, her soon to be husband.

—

Jey and Rhea lay in the bathtub, surrounded by a frothy sea of bubbles, the air heavy with the soothing scent of lavender. The soft, rhythmic beats of SZA’s “Snooze” filled the space, wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Jey’s lips brushed against Rhea’s neck, his gentle nibbles a playful reminder of their love—one that felt both profound and effortless.

As the lyrics floated through the air, “I can’t lose when I’m with you, how can I snooze and miss the moment?” it was as if SZA was voicing the depths of Jey’s heart. He felt so lucky to be with Rhea, cherishing every second of this quiet, intimate time together. He wanted to etch every detail of this moment into his memory, knowing that they were building a life together—filled with laughter, love, and a few absurd conversations.

“Jey,” Rhea said, her tone teasing as she looked at him with those bright, sparkling eyes that he adored. “Will you still love me if I was a worm?”

Jey burst into laughter, his whole body shaking with mirth. “A worm?” he echoed incredulously. “Yeah, I’d love you even if you were a worm. You’d probably wiggle your way into my heart somehow.”

Rhea giggled, clearly enjoying this silly banter. “What about a starfish? You know, just lying there on the ocean floor?”

“Of course!” Jey replied, rolling his eyes playfully. “But if you go and start naming all these things, I’m going to say yes to everything! You could say you’re a rock, and I’d still say yes!”

Rhea laughed, her face lighting up with joy. “So, if I were a rock, you’d just stare at me forever?”

“Absolutely,” Jey grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because even as a rock, you’d still be the most beautiful rock I’ve ever seen.”

Rhea shook her head, her laughter bubbling up again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous,” he shot back, pulling her closer until she was nestled against him, the warmth of the water enveloping them both.

Rhea felt a wave of affection wash over her, the kind that made her heart swell and her worries fade away. Moments like this—filled with laughter, love, and the freedom to be utterly silly—were everything she had ever wanted. It was a stark contrast to the chaos they often faced outside of this serene bubble.

“Promise me,” she said suddenly, looking up into Jey’s eyes, her voice serious but warm. “Promise me we’ll always make time for this, for us.”

Jey’s expression softened, and he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I promise, Rhea. No matter what life throws at us, I’ll always make time for you. We’ll create our own moments, even if they’re just silly conversations in a bathtub.”

Rhea smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude. “Good, because I plan on being the most obnoxious starfish or worm ever, and you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Bring it on,” Jey said, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips, sealing their promise with love.

They stayed like that for a while, lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside forgotten. The music played on, the candles flickered softly, and the bubbles surrounded them like a cocoon, a reminder that in each other, they had found their safe haven. No matter what form they took—worm, starfish, or something entirely different—they would always find their way back to this love, this home they had built together.

As Jey and Rhea were engulfed in their moment, wrapped in the warmth and intimacy of the bath, the figure standing outside felt a surge of rage boiling within. It could see them laughing and whispering sweet nothings to each other, completely unaware of the darkness lurking just beyond their blissful bubble.

Its grip tightened around the crumpled piece of paper that held their new Connecticut home address. The very address that symbolized their fresh start, their escape from the shadows of the past. But to it, it was nothing more than a target—a mark for its vengeance.

“When the time is right…” it hissed, its voice low and dripping with malice. A sinister shimmer flickered in its eyes as it turned away from the scene before it. They looked so happy, so in love, and it made its insides twist with rage. It had watched their lives unfold, the way they shared moments of joy and laughter… but now.. it so desperately wanted to ruin any chance of continuing to have those moments.

With one last glance over its shoulder, it stepped back into the darkness, its mind racing with plans of how to ruin everything they had built. The paper slipped into its pocket, a tangible reminder of its purpose. As it walked away from the house, it felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, knowing it held the power to shatter their perfect world.

Inside the bathroom, Jey and Rhea remained oblivious, their laughter ringing out like a melody. Rhea leaned her head against Jey’s shoulder, content and at peace, while Jey’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her skin.

But that moment of bliss was tinged with an unsettling feeling that neither of them could quite articulate. Jey, in particular, felt a flicker of unease crawl up his spine, an instinctual warning that something was off. He shook it off, determined to focus on Rhea, on the warmth of the moment, and the love they were building together.

“Hey,” he said softly, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. “You know I’ll always protect you, right?”

Rhea smiled, but a shadow of doubt crossed her face. “Of course, I know that. I feel safe with you.”

“Good,” Jey replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Nothing will ever come between us.”

But outside, the figure walked away, already plotting the chaos it would unleash when the time was right. For now, it would wait, its heart fueled by the promise of revenge, eager for the moment when it could finally invade their sanctuary and turn their love into fear.

—

January 27th, 2025, 4:00 PM.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Jey and Rhea approached the steps of the Mead School, their hearts heavy with worry. After entering the Registrar's office, they were escorted down a long hallway to the principal's office, where they found Jeyce seated, his small figure tense in the chair across from the principal.

The principal, a warm man with a friendly demeanor, stood to greet them. “Ms. Bennett, my daughter is a big fan, and Mr. Fatu, my nephews loved you so much, they dressed as you for Halloween,” he said, shaking their hands.

“Thank you,” Rhea replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but the joy was fleeting.

Jey cleared his throat, his brow furrowed. “Did Jeyce say anything about why he acted out?”

Rhea chimed in, her voice firm yet gentle, “And just so you know, what we do on TV isn’t something we endorse as a protection tactic for our son.”

The principal nodded solemnly. “It appears it was provoked by another student. We want Jeyce to stay at Mead, but we have a five-peats rule—it’s usually three, but we increased it to five last year. We believe every child deserves a fair chance before being expelled.”

Jey felt a sense of relief wash over him, but the seriousness of the situation lingered. “Thank you for being understanding. We’ll talk to Jeyce about this,” he said, his voice steady.

After the meeting concluded, Jeyce followed them out, but his silence weighed heavily in the air. The drive home was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. As they approached their gated property, Jey entered the code, glancing over at Rhea, who wore a small, thoughtful smile. He nodded back at her, though worry still gnawed at him.

Once inside the garage, they exited the car, and Rhea was the first to head upstairs. Jeyce lingered at the breakfast bar, grabbing a granola bar from the dish. Jey leaned against the counter, feeling the urge to connect with his son.

“Jeyce, can we talk?” he asked gently, trying to break through the wall of silence.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jeyce replied flatly, his eyes avoiding Jey’s.

“Why not? You’ve never done anything like this before. Let alone used your lunchbox as a weapon,” Jey pressed, concern etched on his face.

Jeyce’s expression hardened. “I don’t want to be here! I want to live with my real mom!”

Unbeknownst to Jeyce, Rhea had descended back down the stairs to retrieve cell phone from the car and caught the tail end of his statement. The words pierced through her heart like a dagger, and she stopped in her tracks, breathless. The truth stung, and she felt an unbearable weight of sorrow as she turned and quietly made her way back upstairs, her heart breaking.

“What happened to Rhea being your bonus mommy?” Jey asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and hurt.

Jeyce’s anger flared. “I want both of my real parents together like the other kids! Not divorced!”

The words hung in the air, a cruel reminder of the fractures in their family. Jey’s breath hitched as he tried to process what his son was saying. Jeyce, overwhelmed by his emotions, bolted up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Jey stood in the kitchen, his heart heavy, watching his son retreat into his room. He could feel the anger and hurt radiating off of Jeyce, but beneath that, he could sense the confusion and pain of a child grappling with a reality he couldn’t fully understand.

Meanwhile, Rhea made her way to their bedroom, feeling the tears spill over as she shut the door behind her. She sank to the floor, the weight of Jeyce’s words crashing over her like a wave. The pain felt raw and insurmountable, each sob tearing at her heart. She had tried so hard to be a good mother figure for Jeyce, to show him love and support, yet in that moment, it felt like she had failed.

Rhea wrapped her arms around her knees, pressing her forehead to her legs, the tears flowing freely as she grappled with her own feelings of inadequacy. She was his bonus mom, yet somehow, in his eyes, she felt reduced to a mere shadow.

The silence of the room engulfed her, amplifying her loneliness. She thought of Jeyce’s innocent smile, the way he used to run into her arms after a long day, and now, those memories felt tainted. The love she had for him felt heavy in her chest, and she couldn’t shake the thought that maybe she would never truly be enough.

As the sobs wracked her body, she longed for the reassurance that everything would be okay, that they could heal as a family. But in that moment, it all felt too far out of reach.

[starksinner]

Why Didn't You Stop Me?

Summary: You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.

Pairing: Trevor Philips x AFAB!Reader, Franklin Clinton x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Possessiveness, Fuckbuddies, Unhealthy Relationship, Average GTA Stuff

November 16th, 2017.

It was easy to regret not catching a ride back to Los Santos with Franklin in his sexy white Bravado Buffalo S. 

Regret is easy, regret you know. Regret can grow and grow it does as you make eye contact with the hillbilly jacking off next to the icebox in front of the Yellow Jack Inn. 

After a couple of days gallivanting around the desert shit-pile that was Sandy Shores, Franklin deemed that your weed-fuelled, fuck-filled adventures had reached a necessary end.

Despite his intriguing offers of more shenanigans and freaky sex once you both got back home, you weren’t all that keen on leaving the town of meth production and Republican rednecks just yet. 

“M’gonna go see him,” you sighed, resting your head back against the stained motel pillow. 

Moments before, as Franklin had fucked you raw into the cheap motel mattress, you were met with the smell of blood and piss and cum as your face was shoved into the shitty cushion.

Despite the abysmal scent, the man was taking you so good and so fuckin’ hard, you couldn’t force yourself to care. 

Now though, as you laid sated in your post-climax glow of sweat and semen, the smell against your cheek served as an unignorable reminder of your still bleeding heart. 

That man, that asshole, that meth-head-Trevor-Philips-piece-of-fucking-shit—goddamnit.

You still hopelessly, stupidly, selfishly loved him. The fucked kind of love.

Always caked in blood, smelling like piss after running off to get high and grinning like an evil bitch as he came all over your chin and tits. The smell of the Derelict Motel—the sheets, the pillow, the musty air—was all just a nauseating reminder of how much you missed him. 

Your therapist was gonna kill you. 

“You know that ain’t a good idea,” Franklin murmured, running his thumb over the plushness of your bottom lip.

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but shiver at the way he looked at you, his gaze so soft and so full of adoration. 

He made you feel like you weren't just a burning shitpile of flesh, bones, and substance abuse issues.

Frank is a good friend, a great man, a nice fuck. He was always there to bring you back down to Earth. He was so easy to love and you sure as shit loved him a whole lot. Beautiful fuckin’ man. “He ain’t right in the head about you.”

“We both know he ain’t right the head about nothin’,” you argued, leaning your body over his. Beautiful man.

“And he’s a big boy. He can take it. Whatever I wanna throw at him.” Your legs quickly became tangled, Frank’s hands resting over your hips as you smiled and played with his chest hair. “He can fuck all the people he wants, but I can’t touch or look or fuckin' breathe around anyone but him? He’s a fuckin’ ass.”

“He fell for you, girl. T’s always been crazy an’ possessive, his shit ain’t nothin’ new.” Franklin snuggled your body closer to his, sighing softly as he pressed his face into the warm crevice of your neck. 

He couldn’t control himself, not when he had you like this. You were so hot and so sweet and just so fucking delicious. 

Shit. 

His lips lingered over the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, his tongue reaching out to tease a fading bruise. He did that. He made that. He marked you. 

Fuck.

He groaned as you gave him easier access by raising your chin, letting him worship you like the real fuckin’ princess he always thought you were.

“He was fuckin’ paranoid and possessive in all the worst fuckin’ ways, Frank. I fuckin’ hate him for how he acted when I said I was leavin’ but I still...miss him.” You hummed softly as you felt Franklin’s lips suck right over your pulse point, his teeth just brushing over your delicate skin.

You held down the urge to beg him to bite you.

“Yeah, you miss him, but ain’t nothin’ gonna be solved if you both end up killin’ each other...or fuckin’ each other,” Frank breathed roughly against the shell of your ear as his hand wandered across your stomach and down to your aching clit. 

He immediately preened at your wetness and teased the bundle of nerves with soft, circular motions. You gasped as you felt his cock harden and twitch against your thigh, begging for your pretty fucking attention.

He grinned and quickly shoved a finger into your cunt, making you moan and writhe oh so beautifully against him. “Jus’ come back home with me, baby…”

You could barely solidify your thoughts, whimpering like you were.

His motions were so smooth and perfect and rhythmic. Frank was good at a lot of things, but you considered his talent of fucking you mindless as one of his top three.

You immediately felt your wetness start to leak down your thighs. “If he still isn’t over it...I’ll fuck off, hitch a ride, meet you back at your place…yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” he gripped your throat just how you like and shoved another finger into you, leaving you mewling and squirming in his grasp. You reached for him, hard and thick in your palm, and squeezed. 

The best girl.

If you were parting ways, Franklin was gonna have you one last time. He understood Trevor’s possessiveness. You were great company, a great fuck, a great woman.

Addicting, hell blazing, heavenly—you were everything. So fuck yeah, he was gonna have you as many times as he possibly could. “Lemme take care of you, babygirl, then you’ll be all good to go.”

The Yellow Jack Inn has never been known for its posh customers or regular demonstrations of human decency, but a man jacking it in front of such a fine all-American establishment is still a sight you couldn’t have properly braced yourself for.

As the ash of your blunt falls to the dirt, your eyes stay transfixed on the man by the icebox as he lets out a disturbing howl and drops to the ground.

His pants are stained, his dick disgusting and soft. He lets out a series of groans as he turns to lie flat on his stomach, his cock scraping against the sand.  

Jesus H. Christ. What a charmer. 

You manage to twist away from the scene in repugnance and perhaps a more sinister part of you in mild delight, settling yourself in the alley next to the bar.

You restlessly attempt to calm yourself against the brick, picking at its shoddy green paint job before you begin rolling another blunt. 

You’re stalling. Like a little bitch. It's embarrassing how much a man can turn you into such a conniving fickle coward. Perhaps not just any man. Your paranoid fuckin’ shitshow of a somewhat ex-lover. 

Embarrassing. Unbecoming. Completely mindfucked. 

You know Trevor’s inside. He’s an enigma, a loud, idiot one at that. Over the noise of clanked bottles and shitty laughter, you can hear him.

Stupid, how much of him you can hear. And see. And smell. And understand. In everything and anywhere and with anyone. He never leaves you even when he’s left you. He never leaves you even when you've left him. He’s a parasite that you’ve coddled, and cared for, and loved and fucked. 

The timber of his voice warms you in a special, fucked up kind of way. It’s familiar and it’s settling and it kills you to know that he’s spent fourteen months ridding you of it. Of him. His clinical insanity has rubbed off on you beautifully. You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay. 

God.

Would he kill you? Kiss you? Fuck you? You’re still stalling.

Maybe all three?

Being the oil to a homicidal cannibal’s match, you could never really know what the fuck you were gonna get. You anticipate an explosion, but you’re clueless to its degree. 

You pocket your blunt, walk over the man with his dick in the sand, and open the door to the biggest health hazard in California. 

Chapter 2

a/n: found this oldie from 2021 that i was in the mood to refresh & post! i haven't written in literal years, be nice to me! also, happy ten years to this stupid fucking game. i love u. i feel old (i'm not) and i'm tired (constantly) and i hope you enjoyed (lie to me if you didn't) :3

✧ masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ send me an ask / let's chat! ✧

[foxspirit1928]

Miss Fisher Snippets (220)

Even though the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher doesn’t actually scrub her knuckles raw to get her husband’s shirts white and bright or worry that her kiddies’ clothes looking faded and second-rate, she is an effective influencer for the brand because of her fame, colorful social life, and flamboyant personality. I remember @omgimsarahtoo once wrote a fanfic based on the plot that “their sales spiked after the original aired” (Flamboyance, 2017, Post-Canon, with a nod to Dead Air), and I find it totally believable.

What about you? Do you favor certain brands or products because they are endorsed by your favorite celebrities?

(Posted 23-Nov-2024)

[andromedism]

In 2017, I watched “The Gang Tends Bar” as it aired live, and it’s all kind of a blur but I remember three things very clearly:

Sunnyblr was POPPING. To this day, I still see TGTB posts floating around with 10k notes and they are all still so fucking good. My beautiful relics of an absolutely insane time.

Airing A Crickets Tale that very next week is probably one of the most chaotic things that was happening to Tumblr at that time. We were all like, “Mmm, thanks for whatever that was, RCG! So yummy! Now can we have another helping of repressed middle-aged gay men?” and they said, “Okay, sure! Here’s more of that but make it foreboding,” and aired “Dennis’ Double Life” the very next week after THAT.

I didn’t sleep the night TGTB aired. I was a freshman in college and I went to class the next day and just stared at nothing during my lecture because I was so blown away by it. At 18, it was one of the most formative experiences I’ve ever had with television. Raw, emotional moments have always been so much more impactful to me in comedic shows. I still consider it one of the most romantic episodes of any show I’ve ever seen. I’m 25 now, and I have never forgotten the way I felt the first time I saw this episode. My life is entirely different now from February of 2017, but my feelings about TGTB are exactly the same if not intensified.

Bonus Big Feelings:

Once you’ve watched “Dennis’ Double Life,” TGTB reads so differently—it hurts so much more. Because you know how it ends for them and you never get closure. YOU NEVER GET CLOSURE.

Something about Glenn’s hair being outstandingly hot in S12 really brought everything together, that year + heightened the pining. He would do something and we’d all be like “ok work!”

Season 16 is the closest I’ve felt to Season 12 levels of deranged. I think this makes sense since S16, stylistically, reminds me the most of classic Sunny and somehow, also, every macden fic I’ve ever read.

I never had a good reference point for whether other people outside of Sunnyblr read that episode as incredibly queer, or Just Guys Being Dudes, but most of my comms class watched this show, and we were all foaming at the mouth talking about it the next day. Everyone was like, “Oh my god! It’s getting gayer! We won!”

Reflecting on where I was in life when TGTB, and when this most recent season aired, I can’t help but wonder where we’ll all be if they touch noses. Season 24 is our seasons guys.

[arsenal-womens-1]

United by Love 3

I had been at Orlando since 2017. Don't get me wrong, Orlando will have a special place in my heart for giving me a chance, but with this, I get to play with new people, make new friends, and play differently, creating opportunities that I wouldn't be able to do at Orlando. Keep in mind that I've only signed a one year contract. Who knows what will happen?

I untangle myself from the blankets and stumble across the room, the wood floor cold on my feet, opening the door to the bedroom, looking in the mirror, seeing how much of a mess I look, walking over to the glass door that separates the shower from the room,

Opening the shower door, the water was hot enough. I stepped in and just let it fall down my back. With a sigh, I tilted my head back, letting the hot water fall down my body. As the steam fills the air, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of the new opportunities awaiting me, both on and off the field.

Grabbing the shampoo, squeezing some into my palm and lathering it into my hair, letting it sit there for a minute, then washing it off and doing the same with the conditioner, grabbing the body wash and sponge, lathering it on, then I scrub all over my body, making it red raw.

Grabbing the towel that was on the rack and wrapping it around my body, I stopped the water and leave the bathroom. Drying myself off, I couldn't help but wonder about the path I had chosen and the opportunities that I had turned down and accepted. Sometime I get the feeling that I chose the wrong path but it's to late now to change it .

[bloodyknucklesforme]

I Am Hungry, I Have Been Hungry | Carnal XVIII

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Nina, Simon and Johnny get ready for Christmas

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, rape/sexual assault mention, smut

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Abbey by Mitski

They sat there like rabbits in a warren. Nina took Johnny’s wrist and moved his hand from her hair to her face, kissing the palm of his hand. He’d cut himself with the knife the night before, not deeply but it could scar. Above her, Simon was kissing Johnny. One of his hands held Johnny’s cheek while the other held her calf firmly. 

“Our girl” is what Johnny said. She wanted to be their girl. Wanted to be part of something. She never thought being touched could be so comforting. Her father, the men at the hospital, Arthur, the men at the club. She could still feel how tightly they’d grip her arms. Simon’s touch was soft along her leg, despite the callouses. Watching them kiss - she wanted to be loved like that. 

She sat up. They stopped and looked at her. Her hands shook as she leaned in, kissing the side of Johnny’s mouth. Let her in please, please oh please, just let her in. Simon cupped the back of her head and pulled close. She ended up straddling one of each man's legs. Johnny was rubbing her back under her sweater. Simon was playing with the hem of her dress. 

She held their shoulders. Lips and teeth and tongues clashing together in a splendid melange. A large calloused hand made its way up her thigh to her centre, knuckles dragged against her covered slit. 

“Do you want me to?” Asked Simon, nuzzling her face. 

“Yes,” She whimpered. 

Simon slid two fingers under the gusset of her panties. Johnny’s grip on her tightened. She closed her eyes, letting their hands keep her from floating away. Simon played in her wetness, dragging his fingers between her folds. Johnny’s mouth was on her neck. She was trembling as they bounced her attention between them. 

“We got ya. Does it feel good?” Johnny’s fingers tangle in her hair, his other hand holding her hip steady.

“Our girl, our good girl.” Simon growls, rubbing his face against her chest. She gasped as Simon pushed a finger inside of her. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Simon’s shoulder. Coos and praises filled her head like smoke. 

Two fingers pumping in and out. She gripped them, fingers shaking around woollen knits. Simon’s thumb rubbed circles around her clit. It was almost too much, she wanted to flinch away, it was good but strange. Her orgasm came as a surprise. Her back arched, Johnny and Simon kissing opposite sides of her face. She gasped and choked. 

“Do you want more, love? Want Johnny to take care of you?” Simon brushed her hair off her sweaty forehead. She turned and greedily kissed Johnny, something passionate, hungry. He pulled her fully into his lap.

He carried her upstairs, over his shoulder she watched Simon follow, licking his fingers clean. 

Johnny laid her down on the bed as gently as he could. Kissing down her chest until he reached the bottom of her sweater and could pull it up and over her head. Simon sat down beside her head, stroking her cheek and resting a hand on the back of Johnny’s head. 

Her dress was slid down her body, she shuddered as the cold air caused her nipples to harden and goosebumps rise over her arms. Johnny kissed down her stomach. Simon moved to lay down next to her. 

The bedroom was dark, the only light came from the hallway through the half closed door. The shadows made Simon’s face distort. Features changing as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her stomach tossed about. Every time she blinked she saw a boot come crashing down, cracking open the front of his skull. 

She felt hot, sweat building in every bent joint. Her chest was getting smaller, her heart struggling to beat in rhythm. 

“Johnny, stop.” Simon said, pushing him by the shoulder. “Nina, look at me. You’re okay.”

There was a roaring in her ears. She pulled her knees up to her chest. She was an animal trapped between two predators. She moved her arm up to her mouth. An old scar ready to open up again. This cursed room, this cursed house, this cursed life. She bit down. 

A familiar taste but not hers. She felt no pain, just the gentle soothing of a hand on the back of her head. She was crying as she was lifted into Johnny’s lap and Simon moved behind him, enveloping both of them. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through a full mouth. 

“Nothing to apologise for.” Johnny kissed her temple. Her jaw went slack as her heart rate calmed, matching Johnny’s pulse in her mouth. Her muscles ached as she let go of Johnny’s arm. Simon replaced it with his hand, putting pressure on the wound. 

“I told ya you wouldn’t ever have to hurt yourself again. I keep my promises.” Johnny said, kissing her temple. “Let’s get ya cleaned up.”

The air in the house felt different. There was something stale drifting about. Johnny complained about her opening all the windows despite the snow. She paced around the house in endless loops, Johnny following behind trying to keep her company. His arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder any chance he got. She liked it. He was always warm. 

Simon was different. He was affectionate in small doses. Tucking her hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek, kissing her forehead. He seemed hesitant to do much else. She wanted more. Maybe it was greedy to want to try again after failing so horribly the first time. 

The three of them hadn’t tried to be intimate again. Simon slept in the spare bedroom if he was home at all. He spent most nights out hunting now. She and Johnny got to spend most nights alone. It was easy with just him. 

Johnny, delicately, would undress her and bury his head between her thighs. Her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging in gentle praise. His fingers spread her open, his mouth around her clit. 

He liked her on top when they fucked. His hands guiding her hips. He’d lean up to nip at the tender underside of her breasts. She liked how he called her pretty when she came. She missed feeling Simon’s eyes on her. 

Johnny and Simon would have their own moments alone in the stables. She’d watched them once or twice, maybe more. Standing on an old bucket, peering through a window. Coils of muscle and flesh wrapping around each other. Johnny didn’t nip at Simon, he bit him. They clung to each other like drowning victims. Their scars would line up, healed tissue sewing them together. It made her stomach warm. Did they know she was watching? Could they smell her and the wetness between her legs? 

“Mine,” Simon growled. 

She felt a twinge of jealousy. It felt more passionate between them. There were memories there. Love there. She wanted to be loved like that. She’d rush back to the house, hands shaking and cheeks on fire. 

She felt like ever the stranger in her own house. 

“I called to ask if I’m still welcome for Christmas dinner,” Price chuckled over the phone. She’d forgotten how close the holiday was. Price had been coming over for Christmas eve dinner since she could remember, always among her father’s other friends until his death. Then it was just Price.

“Of, course. I can do all the traditional stuff. Beef wellington, potatoes, sticky pudding. Whatever you like.” 

“I’d like that, Nina.” He sighed. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, ummm… I’m great. Johnny’s good too. We took his stitches out a while back, he complained the whole time but we’re good.” She couldn’t tell him everything. She never could. The burden of a father was, she supposed, never knowing everything. Price would never punish her, wouldn’t hit her or withhold food but she didn’t want to disappoint him all the same. “I know it's hard to understand but they’re like me. They understand. I never thought there were other people like me.”

“As long as you’re okay, Nina. They’re my men, I trust them. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it but as long as you're safe I’ll deal with it.” All their conversations felt half made, sentences dangling around like leftover birthday streamers. “I’ll see you on the twenty fourth.Take care of yourself, love.”

“You too.”

She’d never been one for Christmas, or any holiday. She enjoyed spending time with Price but the last few years Arthur had always started a fight as soon as he left. The boys wouldn’t do that though. It could be nice this time. Could be something to look forward to. 

She had Johnny help her dig out the old decorations from the cellar. Tinsel, baubles and a little nativity scene. They took Simon’s car to pick up a tree in town. 

“Could we go to the Christmas market one night?” She asked on the way back. She’d never actually gone. Only seen them on the telly. 

“Course we can,” Johnny smiled. He loved Christmas. Simon caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. His expression was neutral, it often felt like he watched her and Johnny like they were characters in a film.

She held both their hands as they walked around. The smells made her dizzy. Wine, oranges, gingerbread, cinnamon, pine, sugar, berries. It felt like something out of a holiday card. 

“You don’t have to waste your money on us,” Johnny said as she got them another basket of chips.

“I have a whole inheritance I’ve never used. You’re the ones who haven’t worked in over a month.” Simon chuckled while Johnny tried to deflect. It was a decent amount of money and it had grown thanks to Price choosing various investments for her. The joys of having two dead parents. 

She used that thought to justify the several bags of trinkets she’d gathered up over the night. Simon, dutifully holding them for her. Reaching around her to always take them from the stand owners before she could. 

She wondered what to get them for Christmas. She’d most likely have to order it online since one of them was almost always at her side. She wasn’t sure she was ready to venture out that much on her own. With the current weather Simon would carry her before letting her walk to town alone. She should have taken Price up on his various offers to teach her to drive. This Spring, maybe.

“Be right back,” Johnny said, disappearing into the crowd. She stuck close to Simon, his hands on her shoulders guiding her around, keeping her in his shadow. They stood off to the side, watching all the other people, the normal people. She swayed absentmindedly to the music. She saw Miss. Carter glowering at them from across the town centre. She tugged on Simon’s hand. 

“Let’s find Johnny.” She turned in towards his chest, trying to push him away from the crowd. He nodded and took them towards the mulled wine stand. He got her a cup. 

Simon took Nina’s chin and tilted it upwards, pouring mulled wine into her mouth before licking any dribbled liquid away. 

“Let’s let Johnny find us.” He pulled his jacket around her, tucking her head under his chin. He was gone the next night - hunting again. 

The nights he spent hunting were the only ones he’d sleep in their bed. He’d crawl into bed with her and Johnny in the early morning, smelling of blood and old straw. He always shivered a bit, even though he tried to hide it. His hair was damp. He was spraying the blood off his skin in the stables and then trudging back with a cooler of meat to the house.

She started leaving clean clothes out on the tack bench for him. She’d wake up early just to make tea for him, setting it on the bedside table for him. Taking care of him and Johnny felt like half repayment and half an attempt to dispel them of any thought of leaving her. Any excitement for the holiday disappeared when she remembered New Years followed and after New Years they’d be deployed again. 

She wandered outside early one morning. An old wool coat over her nightgown, thick socks in old boots and pack of cigarettes in her pocket (stolen from Simon’s coat). She sat on the stone column wall that separated the patio and the rest of the garden. It was snowing softly. She alternated which hand she kept in her pocket and which one she held her cigarette. 

She heard Simon’s car pull around front. It wouldn’t be long before he found her. She should have brought out tea in a thermos. 

“S’too cold for you, love. Catch your death out here.” His hair was damp. He left the cooler by the door before approaching, making space for himself between her knees and pulling her coat tighter around her and the flimsy cotton nightgown she’d ventured out in. 

She pulled another cigarette out from the pack in her pocket, offering it to him. He took it between his lips and held her chin steady as he lit it from the end of her own. She took a drag, “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“What’s keeping you up, lovey?” 

Her eyes were unfocused, gazing towards something non existent behind him. She was picking at the skin around her nails, he laid his hand over hers. She looked up, locking eyes with him.

“I want you to touch me.”

He rubbed his hand over hers, “I am touching you.”

“Please Simon. I need to feel like I’m not broken.”

He dropped his cigarette and cupped her face between his hands, “Don’t say that. They did not break you.”

Her face crumpled up, her whole body shrinking down in his grasp.

“I don’t…I don’t want you two to leave.”

“We’re not leaving. Shhh…don’t cry, lovey. We don’t plan on leaving you.” He pulled her into his chest. 

“I don’t want to be alone. You’re the only people who understand.” He hushed her, stroking the back of her head. 

“We’re family. The three of us. It’ll always be us.” He took her cigarette from her and stubbed it out.

“Then touch me…I want to do it, the three of us. I can do it.” She pleaded.

He pressed his cheek against hers, his mouth against her ear. “I want to fuck you, Nina. I want you; willing and confident. I want to taste you, watch Johnny fuck you, keep you pressed between us. But I don’t want you to force yourself. I don’t want you out here, begging in the cold. Johnny and I will wait till you're ready. Truly ready. ”

She pulled away, cheeks red as she rubbed her tears away. “What if I’m never ready?”

“It wouldn’t change anything. You’re stuck with us, forever.” He kissed her cheek. “ You're cold. Get back to bed with Johnny. I’ll be there soon.”

“Can I wait for you?”

“Course.”

She sat on the top of the stairs as he went down to the cellar, listened to him unpack the cooler into the freezer. 

“We’ll need a second one soon.” He called up to her. 

“We have enough. You don’t have to work so hard. It’s dangerous to go out every night.” 

“Need to make sure you’re well fed while we’re gone.” He walked up the stairs till he could rest his chin on her knee. “Johnny’s promises are mine too.”

Simon got into bed first, Nina curled up to his side and he pulled Johnny into the other one. He was warm. 

It was the first time she’d worn makeup since Arthur. She had a new dress too, nothing fancy, plaid with ruffled straps. She’d kicked Simon and Johnny out of the kitchen. She wanted this meal to be special. She also didn’t know if Price would trust it if she wasn’t the one to make it. It was the only time she enjoyed cooking. It was a tradition started by her and Price, after her father and before Arthur.

“Got to let me do something, bonnie. Feeling useless out ‘ere.” Johnny stuck his head into the room. 

“Could you set the table?” He nodded with a grin, rushing in to grab the place settings. 

“Smells fantastic by the way.” He pecked her cheek.

She was very meticulous in laying out all the food. The two extra place settings allowed for a wider spread. She had Price at the head of the table, her on one side and Simon and Johnny on the other. This was the one night she liked using this room. Christmas Eve supper wouldn’t feel as special at the small table in the kitchen. She tried to push all the bad memories out. 

Dinners with all her father’s friends where the particularly disgusting ones would pinch the back of her thighs as she walked past. One of them had cornered her in the kitchen one night. Price walked in, thankfully. His rage wasn’t directed at her but it still frightened her. She didn’t remember that man’s name but she did recall hearing he fell out of a helicopter on his next deployment. Dead on impact.

She poured herself a glass of wine, drinking it down quickly. She was rageful in that moment. Her life picked and prodded at by the men in her life. Her desires used against her, never anything given, always taken. 

Here she was, finally with two men who understood her, respected her, might even love her and she struggled with their touch. Everything she wanted was just out of her grasp. 

“Price just texted saying he’s a couple minutes out…you alright, bonnie?” Johnny was frowning at her from the doorway. 

“I’m okay.” She wiped her tears away, careful of her makeup. He walked up to her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.” He smiled. “Stay here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, feeling embarrassed. She hated crying in front of men, even if it was Johnny. 

He returned with Simon. Who was freshly shaved and his hair clipped short. He looked handsome. Johnny had resisted cutting his hair short, waiting till the last minute so his mohawk had grown out to be a patch of curly hair. 

“We have something for ya,” Johnny grinned, pulling a small wrapped box from behind his back. “I picked it out but it was mostly Simon’s idea.”

They went on either side of her as she unwrapped it. It was a little black cardboard box. She pulled the top off and it was a necklace with three little gems at the centre of the chain.

“Each one is supposed to be one of us. Sapphire for Simon, nacre for Nina and jade for Johnny.”

“You’ll always have us with you,” Simon said. Once upon a time, she hoped Arthur would surprise her with a ring. She liked this better. “I want to see it on you.”

Johnny held her hair up and Simon put it around her neck. 

“Beautiful.” Simon smiled, fixing the chain so the charms sat centre on her chest. 

She felt loved, fingers rubbing over the gems. Her boys - always with her. 

Dinner went smoothly. Price wouldn’t stop complimenting her and the food. She got him a first edition copy of a Georges Simenon mystery novel. He got her a John Le Carre novel. They always gifted each other books. Always had. He told embarrassing stories about Simon and Johnny from work. 

“Would have preferred if you took me up on my offer to set you up with Garrick,” he chuckled. “He’s a proper bloke. Better than this lot.”

“I like this lot.” 

“They’d get an earful if you didn’t.”

“They’re good to me.”

“Good.” He smiled.

She walked him out to his car while Simon and Johnny cleaned up.

“I’m proud of you, Nina. Truly. Despite everything you’ve grown into a wonderful young woman. I don’t understand everything about you and I don’t think I ever will but I’m happy you found those two. I want you to try to get out more. MacTavish for sure would jump at the chance to take you on a trip somewhere.” He hugged her. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you, John… I love you.”

“I love you, too, Nina.” He kissed her cheek as a final farewell.

They boys had packed everything away. 

“Meet me in the living room. I have gifts for the two of you.”

“Gifts are normally given in the morning, you know?” Simon said, sitting on the couch next to Johnny. 

“You guys gave me one already.”

“Aye, fair enough.”

She grabbed two gifts from under the tree. A bottle of bourbon for Simon and a set of new pencils for Johnny. 

“Thank you, lovey.”

Johnny got up to thank her but she motioned for him to sit back down.

“I have one more gift.”

“That so, bon?”

“It’s from me to me but I still need you two to help.” Simon raised an eyebrow and leaned back, waiting.

She took a deep breath. It would be okay. It would feel good. Their touch was always gentle. Johnny looked at her like she was something sacred. Simon - like he wanted nothing else in the world. Her choice. Her boys. Her body in their hands. A safe place. A home.

She pulled the straps of her dress down and off her shoulders till the whole garment fell to the floor. She resisted the urge to cover her bare breasts. 

They got up together. Johnny at her back and Simon at her front. He held her face like it was the only thing holding her up, kissing her greedily. 

“Promise me you’ll say if you want to stop.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

Johnny kissed down her shoulders and back till he was tugging her panties off. Simon followed suit down her chest and stomach till he was level with her centre. 

“Johnny hold her up,” He said, hiking one of her legs over his shoulder. Johnny stood and held her waist, keeping her steady. Simon stared up at her, “Look at me, Nina.”

She locked eyes with him as his tongue spread her open. She grabbed his shoulder and Johnny’s forearm. 

“Told him how you like it,” Johnny chuckled. She leaned her head back against his chest. He’d done a good job. Simon seemed to already know her. Rubbing her clit as he teased her entrance with her tongue, lapping up her wetness. Johnny rubbed circles on her hips. His cock was hard against her ass through his pants. 

Simon waited till she was a mewling mess before pushing a finger inside of her, curling it up to press against the spot inside her, trapping her nerves between his tongue and finger. 

“Gonna watch ya cum on his face.” Johnny said, kissing and sucking marks against her neck. His hand glided up her hip to her breast to massage it. 

It felt good. Better than good, incredible. She let herself melt between them. All the muscles in her body stretched out like a rubber band before snapping in a scream. Simon groaned loudly as she clenched around his fingers, his mouth moving wildly to cover as much of her as he could. 

They laid her on the floor, pillows under her head and hips. Johnny was licking Simon’s face clean. She was still coming down from her first orgasm as she watched them strip each other. Simon’s hard cock matched the rest of his stature. It made her stomach flip seeing him grind against Johnny’s. 

Simon broke their kiss to look at her, “I want to watch our boy fuck you. Is that okay, Nina?”

She nodded, holding out her arms for Johnny. He was on her in a moment. 

“Simon get you ready for me?” He cooed, peppering sloppy wet kisses across her jaw. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“Please, please Johnny.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and spread her legs for him. Simon held one of her ankles and squeezed reassuringly.

His first thrust stole the air out of her lungs. The head of his cock bumping against that spot. Simon was guiding his hips. “There we go, find your rhythm, don’t leave her wanting. Good boy, Johnny.” 

Johnny always looked her in the eyes when they fucked. Sweaty foreheads rubbing against each other. He had beautiful blue eyes that made her feel so adored. Their noses clunked together as he panted. 

“Taking me so well. You feel so good, Neen. Wanna make you cum again. Can you cum again for me, bonnie?” He was drooling. Simon’s hand slid between them to rub her circles around her clit. 

“Where do you want him to cum, love? On your stomach?... Inside you?” Simon’s voice was deeper, more gravely. His eyes were darker. 

“Inside, please.” She had to know what it felt like. To be filled, to be claimed. She was their girl. She wanted it. She chose it. She wanted both of them. 

The room smelled of sex. Johnny was grunting with every thrust. It was wet and warm and wonderful. Her own slick was dripping down, splattering across her thighs. 

“Please, Johnny. I…I’m…I’m…” Her words got swallowed by another scream as she came again, clenching hard around him. Johnny moaned loudly, picking up his thrusts as he chased his own end. 

It was strange but not unwelcome. Johnny’s cock twitched inside her and she could feel warmth spreading throughout and seeping out where their bodies met. He gave her another kiss as he rolled off her, resting with their shoulders and thighs pressed against each other.

Simon knelt over both of them, hands rubbing thighs and stomachs and chests. 

“You both did so well.” His cock was red and dripping precum down the shaft. She reached out for him. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles. “You sure, love? You ready for me, pretty girl?”

“I want both of you. I want it. I want you, Simon.”

He hooked his arms under her armpits and pulled her up. His back against the couch and her straddling him. 

“I want you like this. Want to see your face.” He kissed over Johnny’s marks. Two fingers curled inside of her, scooping out Johnny’s spend. He beckoned the other man over and forced his fingers into his mouth. Johnny’s eyes rolled back as he sucked. “I want you to prep yourself for me. Our girl likes to watch us too.”

She turned red. 

“Think we couldn’t smell you?” He nipped her collarbone with a laugh. “Could smell your sex the whole walk back.” He licked up the column of her throat. “Been dreaming about this.”

She held onto his shoulders as she sank down on his cock. 

“Take it slowly,” he groaned, holding her hips. She did, moaning at every inch that she took inside her. Johnny rubbed her lower back. He had her take Johnny first for a reason. She tried to bury her face in his shoulder and his hand held the back of her head. “I want to look at you.”

He guided her hips, breathing with her till he bottomed out inside her, the head of his cock pressed against her cervix. Her thighs were shaking. 

“My good girl,” He kissed away the sweat droplets on her face. It was slow, him rocking up into her, watching every twitch of her face. Johnny was next to them, laying on his stomach as he stretched himself open on his own fingers. “Can you give me one more, love? Let me fill you up too?”

She nodded slowly. Her nerves felt on edge, sending off random signals to the rest of her twitchy body. Simon kept her clit between two of his fingers, rubbing back and forth. She was building back up, her stomach tightening again. Her limbs felt loose and jellied. 

She arched backwards, her chest pressing against him, Johnny had to stop to help Simon hold her up. She was shaky and whining as Simon pulled her flush against him. His last thrusts were harder, chasing after his pleasure. He growled as he came, his spend mixing with Johnny’s. He let her rest against his shoulder.

“Fuck…You did so well for us, love. How are you feeling?”

“Was it good for ya, bonnie?” 

She couldn’t form words, her mouth opened and closed with smiles and nods of her head. They both chuckled as Simon laid her back down on her pillows. 

“You still feel up to watch?” Simon pushed her hair back. She grinned up at him. “Let’s give her a show, Johnny.”

It was better up close. Simon had a hand around Johnny’s throat, not choking, just holding. His chest against Johnny’s back. The sound of skin slapping against skin and Johnny’s wanton moans. Simon grunted and growled. There was a new warmness inside her. Johnny was holding his cock, letting Simon’s thrust move him back and forth in his own grip. She reached between her legs and scooped up their mixed spend. 

“Oh fuck…Nina.” Johnny moaned, watching her clean her fingers. Simon smirked down at her, picking up his pace. It was salty but not unpleasant. She groaned around her digits. “Si, I’m close. Fuck… please.”

“You going to ruin our girl’s rug?”

“Si, please. I can’t-”

“Ask her where to cum.”

They both looked at her, Johnny pleadingly and Simon with a devilish smirk.

“In my mouth.” Johnny’s head flopped backwards against Simon. 

“C’mere, love.” Simon beckoned. She moved in front of Johnny. It didn’t matter she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this. It mattered that it was Johnny and Simon. It was their first time. Her first time. Nothing else mattered. It was them, only them.

She opened her mouth and took the head of his cock, swirling her tongue around it. Johnny didn’t last. He came as she licked at his slit, filling her mouth. She looked up at him to watch him crumple. She swallowed him down and cleaned him. Simon grunted harshly and his thrusts stuttered out. 

“Mine,” he growled. “Both mine.”

The three of them collapsed onto the floor, Simon making his way to the middle, tucking them each under an arm. 

“Happy Christmas to us.” Johnny breathed. “I want a fucking cigarette and a glass of whiskey.”

“I have a gift for you first,” Simon said, sitting up. “For both of you but Johnny you’re first.”

“Aye?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I want you to bite me. Mark me. Nina beat me to marking you but… I’m ready. I want it.”

Johnny shot up. She could see the emotions run across his face: surprise, fear, excitement, love.

“Where do you want it?” He smiled. 

Simon stretched his back and arms before pointing towards his trapezius muscle, where his shoulder met his collarbone.

“Don’t get too deep. We ship out in a week.” He turned back to pull her up next to him. “I want you to do the other side. If she gets a necklace, I want this.” 

Johnny grabbed disinfectant and bandages. 

“You sure, Si.”

“More than anything, Johnny.”

Nina held his other arm, both her hands fitting into his one. He squeezed tightly as Johnny bit down on him. He breathed hard through his teeth. She watched his cock twitch as blood ran down his chest. Johnny pulled back, red lipped. 

They cleaned up the bite before Nina went. Johnny held her hair out of the way.

“Right here, love.”

He and Johnny were the only people she ever met that didn’t smell like food. Though her mouth had never watered more than right before she sank her teeth into Simon. Johnny moaned behind her. Simon’s hand rested on the back of her head. 

“Good girl,” he breathed. She pulled away and was immediately pulled into a kiss by Johnny. It was the second time she’d tasted both of them at once. This one was sweeter. 

“Me next.” Johnny laughed. “Thinkin of havin ya take a chunk outta my arse.”

“Price won’t grant you leave again, even if you can’t sit down.”

“Here then.” He patted his upper arm, “I’ll have you and Nina on the same arm.”

Nina wiped it off with disinfectant.

“Thank you, nurse.” He tapped her nose playfully. He leaned close, “If you want one too, you can.”

“I don’t know where I want it.” She wanted it to be somewhere she could always feel them but nowhere Price could see. A secret for the three of them. 

“You have time to think. We won’t rush.”

“I wouldn’t mind biting your arse-fuck me!” Simon bit down on Johnny’s arm, his eyes rolling back as blood filled his mouth. 

Johnny panted as Simon cleaned up the wound. Nina cleaned up Simon’s face. 

They laid on the floor, Simon pulling a blanket off the couch to cover them up. Nina was spread out over top of them. They were tangled together, not sure which limb belonged to who. 

“I love both of ya,” Johnny said, squeezing each of their hands. “So much actually.”

She’d heard it before from others but it didn’t matter because it didn’t come from either of them before so it was the first time it mattered.

“I love you, Johnny. I love you, Simon.”

“I love you, Nina. I love you, Johnny.”

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

[hellhoundsprey]

I have been kicking around this question for years now but I’ve never had the balls to ask you. I was just wondering if you would ever accept a commission to write another Fuckpig! story?

Now, this is a message I did not expect!

I just checked; the first FP piece was posted 9 years ago. How is it so long ago already? And sadly, the Coven of Depravity disbanded in 2017.

Mind you, I was never a coven member. (I had been invited. Self-doubt made me decline. I wish I could turn back time, man.) I became the in-house (in-van?) artist, though. But I do not have the same, hands-on relationship to music that the 4 grand ladies have. I did not invent those characters, I do not breathe their air. I can write about them, but not them-them. Ykwim?

Do I love them? Of course.

Have I fever-dreamed about them? Of fucking course.

Do I have a FP Pinterest board I keep pinning new shit to regularly and, most recently, like 2 days ago? Bet.

Could I write about them? Oh hell yeah.

Anon (and, uh, whoever else feels that way?), if you'll have me despite the above points, if you are okay with...well, fanfiction on the Fuckpig!verse—hit up my inbox with what you're looking for and we can figure something out.

Mind you, I also do art and recently have become pretty fond of comics. If that is anything that'd tickle your fancy besides words. (You get a discount for a fic-plus-illustration combo. Hell, you get a fucking FP-discount, too, haha.)

I'm currently in a pretty raw transitional state after a painful breakup and international move but, uh—honestly, probably the perfect set-up to write FP, haha. What I'm saying is, though: things might take a bit longer rn, but if you've got time to spare, I'm here. Doesn't have to be right now, either. My love for FP remains undying.

(PS: Congrats on finding those balls ❤.

PPS: Your message made me so fucking happy. I feel v v magical right now. So thank you, seriously ❤❤❤❤.)

[in-spain-without-an-s]

I mean we all do remember raw air 2017, right ?

I don‘t wan‘t to be that person, but this kind of stuff will always hit you at some point

[lola-andheruniverse]

Fix It Wednesday - Caryl Fanfiction Rec

Dear fellow carylers, this fic is a fix it (because it corrects a wrong) with a twist (because it brings someone's that is dead back to life to make it even more interesting).

When it's Over, written by Marie1063/@haircoveredwriter, is posted on 9Lives. Summary: Finding Carol in the slaughterhouse was the end of it, or so Daryl thought. But things are much worse though he could have ever imagined ... the unexpected return of someone from her past could be the final blow that breaks her. Can he help her hold on?

AU around the time frame of "The Same Boat". Also, implied timeline/storyline liberties taken in earlier season.

Rating: M Word count: 14.444 (04 chapters) Published: October 21, 2017 (completed) I remember reading somewhere that this author was a poetic angst queen and, oh, dear fellow carylers, she really is. This beautifully-written story gives us Daryl actually reaching out and taking care of Carol after the events of S7 'The Boat'. And our Carol accepts him, without closing herself down. The aftermath of 'The Boat' could've been a huge turning point for caryl if TPTB had explored it, so to have it handled so carefully in fanon is a relief and a joy. Let me highlight two quotes that I particularly love and describe to perfection their POVs before they reach resolution together: "Perfect depictions of suburbia surround her. Even under the twilight skies, Alexandria’s manicured lawns and pristine streets taunt her suffering heart; constant reminders she doesn’t belong here anymore, meager attempts at humanity be damned. Carol cycles her fingers through the low hanging air, swelling pressure pushing back against unfeeling tissues and haunting memories numbing her raw nerves’ responses. She just wants to forget."

"It’s been building for a while; shit, he should have known. Maybe he’d been too blind or ignorant to see what was right in front of him, not believing he could truly lose her when she still stood before him. But now, Daryl wasn’t the one suffering most from his negligence."

Beautiful, isn't it? The resolution is even better, their happy ending all they deserved. Go read it, dear fellow carylers, it's really amazing. Caryl on!

[fake-russian-chick]

Hello everybody!

Okay, somehow people are following me, mostly because of my shifting posts, so I thought it was about time for me to introduce myself (I’ll make a special shifting introduction as well)

I don’t know how to make that pretty pinned posts other blogs do to introduce themselves, and if someone is willing to teach me, I’ll love this person to death and beyond, but until then, bear my raw posts.

I’m Andy, I’m nineteen years old since two days ago, I’n non-binary and bissexual, but any pronouns are fine for me. I’m Brazilian, and a genius with a sociopathic inclination (No jokes here, I’m a diagnosed ASPD) I’m a self-taught polyglot who together with my mother language (Portuguese) also speaks English, Russian, Spanish, Romanian, and I’m on my way to learn Czech.

I’ve been reading fanfics since 2017, first on Spirit Fanfic, then on Wattpad, and in 2021 on Tumblr. I still write for Wattpad, it’s in Portuguese and the profile is @andyushka_, in case anyone is interested.

My main interests are The Vampire Diaries (I’ve been a obsessed fan for over a decade already), Game of Thrones, different cultures folklore and mythology, history (especially the Russian revolution, the Viking Era and WWII).

I’m a born Jewish who follows the ways of the Old Gods, focusing on the Norse paganism and Hel, the Goddess of Death. I love talking about religion, but anyone talking badly about other believes will be immediately blocked.

I also love reading (Dracula and the Six of Crows duo are my favorites) and doing manual projects as crochet, knitting, air clay and etc. if I don’t know how to do something, I’ll learn with easy and add it to my weird abilities set.

Anyways, that’s a little bit about me. Probably no one is going to read this, but I couldn’t care less ☺️

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

Today had been exhausting. To put it mildly. A thick layer of snow enveloped the Upper East Side when Oliver left for work; extending his regular ten minute commute to a miserable, half-hour schlep. His office radiator was on the fritz - everyone and everything demanded his undivided attention - and to make matters worse, he’d skipped lunch entirely due to an irate phone call from his parents.

HEAD ABOVE WATER (IN THE EYE OF THE STORM)

There’s a wash-thin t-shirt from his pre-grad days draped over the dresser mirror: one of several incorporated into Elio’s casual wardrobe since his much-anticipated move to the States. A Yawn is the Body’s Silent Scream it declares in faded, vinyl lettering, yet when Oliver’s jaw cracks twice in as many minutes the bone-deep contentment that follows feels nothing short of euphoric as he smothers the sound in the petal-soft skin of his boyfriend’s freckled forearm. 

To his right, a constant drip-drip-drip emanates from the brownstone’s fire escape. An occasional heavy gust rattles the frosted panes. As with most evenings, next door’s television drones low and muffled beyond the party wall, but their bedroom itself remains a bastion of calm: silent, by and large, save for the unbroken susurrus of their steady inhalations. 

The ubiquitous creak of worn-out box springs. 

The lub-dub ballad of the adagio heartbeat cushioning his cheek, soothing him into a trance-like inertia.

Elio doesn’t mind, however. Not if his indulgent chuckle is any indication. Just carries on humming his latest composition whilst weaving those clever fingers through Oliver’s sweat-damp hair: holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Close your eyes, amore mio,” he whispers at length; each caress an unspoken reassurance in the marginal space between them. “You’ve earned it, no?”

“I shouldn’t…” Oliver mutters, receiving a stubble-rough kiss to his muzzy forehead. “Those Ontology papers -”

“Aren’t due back ‘til Monday,” Elio reminds him: headstrong as always. “And you’ll have all weekend to grade them, regardless.” 

An admirable proposal: though easier said than done with such welcome distractions.

Today had been exhausting. To put it mildly. A thick layer of snow enveloped the Upper East Side when Oliver left for work; extending his regular ten minute commute to a miserable, half-hour schlep. His office radiator was on the fritz - everyone and everything demanded his undivided attention - and to make matters worse, he’d skipped lunch entirely due to an irate phone call from his parents. 

They still haven't forgiven him for cancelling his engagement. For refusing to be railroaded into the status quo. He’d honestly thought himself immune to their bigoted condemnation, but listening to his father rant about selfish perversions soon rendered his appetite nonexistent, and by the time he’d limped back to their Morningside apartment - feet throbbing, migraine building, throat scraped raw by the frigid, December air - Oliver would be the first to admit he was circling the proverbial drain.  

In any event, the rich aroma of basil and marinara greeted him like a warm hug when he locked the front door behind him; Mafalda having gifted them a folder of handwritten recipes to combat the mostruosità ingrassante of American cuisine. Elio - wearing the blue-and-white sweater Oliver’d purchased in Sicily - was curled up on the couch with a German copy of Don Quixote, yet shimmying free of his blanket burrito the shameless clothes thief marked his place in the dog-eared pages, returned the novel to their brimming bookcase, then pointed imperiously at the kitchen table.

“Siediti,” he’d commanded, ushering him into the nearest chair. 

“Eat,” he’d implored, plating up some Pasta alla Norma before pouring a glass of wine. 

Straightaway, Oliver’s stomach growled like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and grabbing his fork he’d speared a chunk of roasted eggplant - groaning in undisguised relief when Elio set about removing his water-logged shoes and socks as he offloaded his petty grievances between absent-minded bites. 

He has a vague recollection of downing the leftover pinot in a single swallow. 

Of an unwavering grip urging him to stand: guiding his leaden limbs towards the moonlit bedroom. 

His memories grow a little clearer after that, and Oliver smiles as he nuzzles the dusky peak of Elio’s nipple; breath escaping on a sigh when a calloused thumb skims the ridge of his gently rising rib cage. Smiles even wider at the blatant reminder of oil-slick palms bestowing a tender massage. The feathery brush of bee-stung lips mouthing southwards that preceded a truly exquisite orgasm.

He’d offered up a grumbling protest at Elio’s insistence he need not reciprocate - though Heaven knows he was far too drained to actually try - and snaking both arms around his partner’s slender waist he’d melted into a boneless embrace; arching like a satisfied tomcat as ghostly fingertips mapped the crest of his liquified spine.

“You’re out for the count,” Elio murmurs then, tracing the curve of his ticklish earlobe. The mottled birthmark adorning his shoulder. “So do as I say, d’accord? Rest. Récupérer. Let me take care of you for once…” 

Again, he means to argue. And very nearly does. But the Hispanic rhythms of their lively neighbourhood aren’t the only things dulled by the unseasonal blizzard, and as Oliver’s muted senses drag him further under, he finds himself immeasurably grateful for the man who’s no longer a dream.

No longer a memory.

His Elio. His malakh. The other half of his earthbound soul.

[rifki16]

Hidamari ga Kikoeru Raw Material, film and Pilot Episode Review Date

In anticipation of the Silhouette of Your Voice (2017) Live-Action series remake, airing on June 26, 2024. I intended to read the manga, as well as, refreshing my memory of the film (2017). However, I don’t think I have the time for it; I’m swamped with my thesis work. I am planning to write a review of the manga, the film and the pilot episode by June 30 - and to upload it here on that day as well.

I’m very amped up for the series. I hope that the LA can give a better justice to the raw material - the manga, as well as, a better disability representation. The film was the first Japanese BL work with disability representation that I have ever consumed. My prejudgment about Japanese society and their relationship with disability is that they are averse to it - with the whole masculinity-driven societal mindset.

I do hope that the LA show can at least try to show a social model of disabilities.

[karlamon]

Decided to give Topsters a try and listed my 25 favourite films, shows, games, and albums.

Starting off with Topsters list for my 25 favourite movies:

Airplane! (1980)

Apollo 13 (1995)

Balto (1995)

Bolt (2008)

Children of Men (2006)

Finding Nemo (2003)

Gravity (2013)

The Iron Giant (1999)

Kung Fu Panda 2 (2011)

The Lion King (1994)

Migration (2023)

Nimona (2023)

The Prince of Egypt (1998)

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022)

Ratatouille (2007)

Saving Private Ryan (1998)

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)

Sing 2 (2021)

Surf's Up (2007)

Top Gun: Maverick (2022)

United 93 (2006)

The Wild Robot (2024)

You Were Never Really Here (2017)

Zootopia (2016)

Next is my Topsters list for my 25 favourite shows:

Aggretsuko (2018 - 2023)

The Angry Beavers (1997 - 2003)

The Angry Video Game Nerd (2004 - Present)

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005 - 2008)

Band of Brothers (2001)

Bluey (2018 - Present)

BNA (2020)

Chernobyl (2019)

Digimon: Digital Monsters [Adventure (1999), Adventure 02 (2000), Tamers (2001)]

Ed, Edd n Eddy (1999 - 2009)

Green Eggs and Ham (2019 - 2022)

Mayday [aka, Air Crash Investigation] (2003 - Present)

Mythbusters (2003 - 2016)

Primal (2019 - Present)

Regular Show (2010 - 2017)

Robot Chicken (2005 - Present)

Rocko's Modern Life (1993 - 1996)

Seconds from Disaster (2004 - 2018)

The Simpsons (1989 - Present)

South Park (1997 - Present)

SpongeBob SquarePants (1999 - Present)

Thomas & Friends (1984 - 2021)

Untalkative Bunny (2001 - 2003)

We Bare Bears (2015 - 2019)

Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (2000 - 2004)

Then it's my Topsters list for my 25 favourite games:

Alan Wake (2010)

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare (2007)

Civilzation VI (2016)

Crash Bandicoot N. Sane Trilogy (2017)

Croc: Legend of the Gobbos (1997)

Day of Defeat: Source (2005)

Destruction Derby Raw (2000)

Digimon: Rumble Arena (2001)

Dust: An Elysian Tail (2012)

Euro Truck Simulator 2 (2012)

Fallout 3 (2008)

Microsoft Flight Simulator (2020)

Grand Theft Auto V (2013)

Half-Life 2 (2004)

LEGO Island (1997)

Medal of Honor: Allied Assault (2002)

Papers, Please (2013)

Portal (2007)

Ratchet & Clank (2002)

The Simpsons Game (2007)

Spyro Reignited Trilogy (2018)

Super Animal Royale (2018)

Team Fortress 2 (2007)

Tekken 3 (1997)

VRChat (2014)

And finally, here's my Topsters list for my 25 favourite albums:

Brian Eno - Ambient 1: Music for Airports (1978)

Poets of the Fall - Carnival of Rust (2006)

Have a Nice Life - Deathconsciousness (2008)

God Is an Astronaut - The End of the Beginning (2002)

Failure - Fantastic Planet (1996)

Nine Inch Nails - The Fragile (1999)

Shihad - The General Electric (1999)

Björk - Homogenic (1997)

Linkin Park - Hybrid Theory (2000)

Radiohead - Kid A (2000)

Sigur Rós - Kveikur (2013)

Talk Talk - Laughing Stock (1991)

My Bloody Valentine - Loveless (1991)

Swervedriver - Mezcal Head (1993)

Massive Attack - Mezzanine (1998)

Solar Fields - Movements (2009)

Mogwai - Mr. Beast (2006)

Boards of Canada - Music Has the Right to Children (1998)

David Gray - A New Day at Midnight (2002)

Jon Hopkins - Opalescent (2001)

Meniscus - Refractions (2016)

Jakob - Solace (2006)

"Weird Al" Yankovic - Straight Outta Lynwood (2006)

Ulrich Schnauss - A Strangely Isolated Place (2003)

Deftones - White Pony (2000)

Feel free to create your own Topsters list here:

[wallisninety-six]

Kick-starting the Rock n’ Roll Revival - The Post-Psychedelic Fun of “Wild Honey” (1967)

1967′s Smiley Smile painted the image of a Beach Boys that is thoroughly, energetically, and creatively spent- especially following the immense stress with the band’s collapse of success, drugs & mental health issues, and the collapse of Smile. But with Wild Honey- the band has never felt more unified and alive. And not only that, they helped initiate major changes not just from within the band, but also to the music world as well thanks to one move...going back to rock and roll’s roots and embracing R&B.

After total burnout and a severely stressful 1967, and with a lot of the music world lambasting the band as “ball-less choir boys” the band sought to re-invent themselves as a self-contained rock act, intentionally distancing themselves away from the lush, theatrical and extremely complex compositions of Pet Sounds and other psychedelic acts that filled the market, and make music that the band could actually enjoy making- recording at Brian’s home with only band-mates and their talents; only a love for R&B, Soul, and Motown driving their music process, more lo-fi than Smile.

However to call this lo-fi, either musically or instrumentally is almost misleading- not less because the newer 2017 stereo transfer of it shows greater musical depth and complexities in the background than ever heard before. Indeed, perhaps the Beach Boys’ greatest yet most underrated talent is their ability to immediately & effectively evoke worlds of fun, love and summer. This is used to great effect in tracks like “Let The Wind Blow”, “Country Air”, and their fantastic single “Darlin’“ and cover of Stevie Wonder’s “I Was Made to Love Her”- using their stripped-down approach with great precision and shining beautifully here. The landscapes they paint with their songwriting and musical chops help blur the lines between psychedelia and rock and roll, in various moods, setting, and form- from hazy countrysides, frantic parties, and flowering declarations of love.

The transition to blues rock for people unaware of the Boys’ later work sounds very unusual- some tracks you’d swear were made by The Rolling Stones in the late-60s. Yet, the psychedelic sound is still here, some songs can’t help feeling still a wee bit druggy or floaty throughout the album- but this shows how the album is considered to be an important transition point from psychedelia to the back-to-basics trend rock made after the Summer of Love, predating such work made by The Beatles, The Band, and even the Doors’ later work in Morrison Hotel- perhaps consequentially enough, Jim Morrison himself was a fan of Wild Honey.

But in the midst of musical evolution, and the return of Brian Wilson and Mike Love’s songwriting partnership- perhaps the real standout star from Wild Honey is the youngest Wilson brother: Carl. Carl Wilson’s voice and performance is even more powerful, that much more soulful and at times raw. His performances in the title track and “Darlin’” command the listener’s attention for just how much the man is giving his all and singing his soul out due to his immense love of Motown and blues music. And as Brian was very slowly ceding his leadership role, Carl’s increased presence in Wild Honey and future albums was consequential as he would soon become the de-facto leader of the band after 1970.

Considering that after 1967, the band members grew older, got married and had kids, and shifted to a more mature image and sound- Wild Honey feels like the final burst of youthful energy from a band that gained its fame partially for their songs’ focus on teenage summer love and fun- it’s still here and very much alive, but the form it takes on is notably different. Considering it’s historicity for being one of the first back-to-basics rock album, and its consequential influence on other major acts, Wild Honey comes close to being as important in music history as Pet Sounds and even Smiley Smile before it- As summer rolls around, it deserves a listen while we ourselves try to find a youthful love of fun & sun once more.